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“Legally?”

She considers. “For now.” Like mother, like daughter.

“Then, yes.” She nods and starts gathering files.

Jubilee points at me, her attention still on the screen. “And no making Tyson disappear.”

I place a hand over my heart. “You wound me, Jules.”

Her mother’s attention ping-pongs between us. “You call her Jules?”

“And Princess.”

Jubilee blushes fiercely. Her mother scrutinizes me for a long moment. “I like him.”

Jubilee groans, kneading her forehead. “Oh, God. You already liked him. Now you’ll want to adopt him.”

Anne brightens and taps her phone. “You should do a Halloween version of that Christmas cat thing.”

“Please stop,” Jubilee begs.

Silence seems the wisest available strategy. I won’t spoil the surprise since a Halloween one is already in the works.

For the next several minutes, the apartment becomes controlled chaos. Anne sends files from the couch while I speak to Detective Alvarez near the front door, keeping my voice low, so the neighbors don’t get the full itinerary. Jubilee checks her button-camera upload twice, then starts wiping up the spilled milk. Tyson groans once and stays face down. Glass jaw.

By the time I end the call, I’ve made one decision. Jubilee isn’t staying here tonight, and neither is her mother.

I watch her kneeling beside the spilled milk, torn shirt held closed in one fist while she scrubs with the other. Her mother is gathering evidence against the man who assaulted her, the police are about to turn her apartment into a crime scene, there’s an unconscious predator on the carpet, and Jubilee York is cleaning the fucking floor.

Absolutely not. I step over Tyson and head down the hallway. Behind me, she straightens on her knees. “Gage? Where are you going?”

“To pack.”

“What?”

I keep walking.

“Gage!”

By the time she catches up, I’ve found a suitcase in her closet and opened it across the bed. Her room is small. Old laptops on a corner desk, tangled cables, and abandoned ramen cups. Clothes pile on the bed and spill from cardboard boxes. Jesus Christ.

The dresser sits so close to the bed, Jubilee has to turn sideways to get past me. She plants both hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”

I pull open the first drawer. “Packing.”

“I can see that.”

“Excellent. We’re communicating. You’re not sleeping here tonight.” I select a shirt, fold it, and place it in the suitcase.

Her mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”

I glance over my shoulder. “This is not a discussion, Princess.”

“Oh, really?” She leans back against the dresser and crosses her arms. “Because last I checked, this is my bedroom, my suitcase, and those are my underwear you’re approximately six inches away from discovering.”

I pause at the drawer. Interesting.

Her expression pulses a warning. “Don’t you dare.”