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“Vinny, you know I love you, but that cat is a fucking menace.”

“He’s just nervous about having company,” Lavinia says patiently, a small smile playing on her lips.

Remy walks over to her, slides a hand along her jaw, and tilts her head back for a deep, unhurried kiss that makes the air feel a little warmer. When he pulls back, he repeats, low and serious, “He’s a menace.”

I take a breath and decide to speak before the moment slips away. “We brought one of the kittens back from the feral colony,” I confess, the words tumbling out a little too fast. My history with Remy hasn’t exactly been smooth, and I still feel the awkward tension between us from our last encounter at the hospital. “She had a hurt paw and needed some extra care.”

Sy’s eyebrow lifts. “Maddox is letting you keep a cat in the House of Night?”

Remy snorts. “I’d love to see that.”

“Oh, he doesn’t know. He isn’t at the House of Night right now,” I say quickly. “He’s recovering somewhere private.”

“In private,” Remy deadpans, his tone flat. “At the hotel?”

I shake my head, unsure how much I should share. Damon’s hand moves to the small of my back, warm and steady–a silent reminder that I need to be careful with what I say. But this is Timothy’s son. He deserves to know, doesn’t he?

“Figures he’d take off when things get rough,” Remy says with a shrug, though I catch the flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “He’s probably licking his wounds from being unfit to run BRN.”

Damon stiffens behind me, but I keep my expression flat. Remy’s accusation stings more than I expect. I’m hurt and worried, but most of all confused. Timothy’s absence has felt like a failure on my part since Graves returned from the hospital without him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs, opening the shop?” Sy asks pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Remy says, kissing Lavinia one more time before stepping into the waiting elevator.

Once he’s gone, Sy gestures for us to come further in. The movement gives me a clearer view of the apartment. The elevator opens directly into the top floor of the Royal Gazette building, and the space is stunning–open and bright. A large, modern kitchen gleams with shiny new stainless steel appliances to the left. Across the wide room, a comfortable living area with deep couches and armchairs faces a long wall of windows that flood the space with natural light.

I choose the large sectional couch near the windows, sinking into the soft cushions. The sunlight feels warm on my skin, and I let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering nerves.

Sy takes a deep brown leather armchair while Damon lingers near the edge of the room for a second longer, still in full protector mode, before Sy shoots him a look. With a reluctant grunt, Damon finally sits next to me, his big body taking up space.

Lavinia gives Archie one last scratch behind the ears and straightens up. “I’m gonna head downstairs and check on things with Remy,” she says lightly. She and Sy share a quick, knowing look–something unspoken passing between them–before she offers me a small smile. “Good luck, Arianette.”

As the elevator doors close behind her, Sy turns toward me.

“I want to try something different today,” he says, his voice low and serious. “No hypnosis. Not yet, anyway. I think we need a fresh approach.”

“What kind of approach?” I ask.

Just then, the elevator dings again.

I tense. Damon’s entire posture shifts beside me, his body going on high alert. He tracks every movement as the doors slide open.

A woman steps into the apartment. She has soft auburn hair pulled back into a neat, low ponytail, a few gentle strands framing her face. She’s wearing a tailored coat over jeans and a soft blue sweater that brings out the warmth in her azure eyes. She looks calm, professional, and completely out of place in the middle of whatever this is.

“Dude, what the hell?” Damon mutters under his breath. “You can’t just have people show up.”

“Just chill, okay?” Sy says, standing up. “Hey Mom, everything okay on the ride over?”

My eyebrows shoot up. Mom?

“Just a little traffic,” I watch Sy lean over and kiss her cheek. “But nothing major. I saw Remy downstairs. Royal Ink looks great.”

“He’s put a lot into it,” he agrees, then turns to me. “Arianette, this is my mother. Sarah.”

I stand, feeling Damon rise up behind me. His hand attaches to my lower back, thumb slipping under the waistband of my skirt.

“We actually met at your wedding,” she says, extending her hand. “But I don’t expect you to remember the boys’ dads or me. That was a chaotic day, I’m sure.”