I swallow hard, torn between wanting to look away and the impossibility of doing so. Every scar tells a story, and every story makes her harder to ignore.
“I’m sorry, that was the only thing I thought might fit,” Kayla murmurs, stepping closer. “Chris will bring something from her wardrobe later today.”
I have to lean down to hear her—she’s on her toes, whispering like we’re exchanging secrets. It’s not like her. She’s usually blunt, sharp, always two steps away from a jab or smirk. Now she’s soft. Too soft.
And she’s whisperingthat, of all things?
“What happened while I was gone?” I ask, keeping my voice low, but not bothering to whisper. “Do I need to worry?”
“I touched her. To see.”
“You used your powers on her?”
I exhale through my teeth, jaw locking. “Tell me she didn’t see your eyes.”
That comes out rougher than I meant it—closer to a scold than a question. But she was reckless. She knows better.
Kayla shakes her head quickly, stepping back. “No. I closed them. Don’t worry. But I saw… bad things.”
Shit.That bad?
She never looks this serious.
“Chris,” I call, not turning around, “take Roran to your apartment. Let her borrow something that fits. She’ll be staying at the beach house for now.”
I need to know what Kayla saw. Right now.
“The beach house?”
My dad’s voice comes from behind me. I turn and see him in the doorway, Mariano and Mom beside him.
“You made the right call bringing her,” he says coldly. “But there’s no. Fucking. Way. You’re using your mother’s beach house.”
His fists are clenched, soul flaring hot without me even needing to read it. I know it.
Anything involving Mom sets him off—but this? This is different. What does he think Roran’s going to do there? Trash the place? Tell someone?
“But—”
“No. End of discussion.”
He cuts me off like it’s nothing. Then he steps toward her.
“So you’re Fedor’s daughter.”
Cold again. Ice. Guard up.
He hates outsiders—especially ones who could threaten our family. I expect Roran to shrink under his stare, but she doesn’t.Impressive.
“Yes,” she says, her voice steady. She straightens like a soldier bracing for orders. It doesn’t rattle her. Not even a little.
She isn’t like this with me.
Is she feeling it too? That weird… connection.
“I’m not proud of it,” she adds. “And I’m more than willing to give you whatever you need to take him down—if that’s what you want. Maleciandro promised me he’d bring my sister back and that we’d be allowed to stay.”
She says it with her spine straight and her chin lifted.
