Page 139 of What We Burn

“What exactly did he tell you?” I ask, not wanting to jump to conclusions. There’s only one secret hidden in that choker, but I still need to hear the words.

“That it does more than just cover my scar—you put a tracker in it.”

“Location only,” Milo says quickly. “No microphone or camera. It shows us where the pendant is, and alerts us if you move too far away.”

“So I’m digitally fenced in?”

“No, kitten. It’s a failsafe.”

“We almost lost you, wildcat,” I say. “Right outside this building. Right under our noses. None of us can forget that.”

“I know.” Her anger softens, but it doesn’t disappear. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But this surveillance—it’s getting too much. There are cameras at work, someone parked across the street, background checks on everyone who looks at me, and now a tracker around my neck. How much surveillance does one person really need?”

“Enough to make sure we never lose you again,” Milo says.

The answer comes without a joke.

Sage sighs and settles back against my chest. “I understand why you did it. That doesn’t make it okay that none of you told me.”

“Okay,” Milo says. “We’ll have a surveillance summit. All six of us. I’ll prepare slides.”

“No slides. We sit down and talk about what you can see, when you’re checking it, and what requires my permission.”

“Fine. But only if you promise to keep wearing the choker whenever you leave the house.”

“You don’t get to make the conversation conditional.”

“I’m not. I’m asking you not to make my brain eat itself before we can have it.”

She looks at me.

“I’m asking too,” I say.

Her eyes close.

“Fine. I promise I’ll wear it. But from now on, you tell me when you put surveillance on me. I shouldn’t have to find out from Eli after the fact.”

Milo studies her for a moment, then nods. “You won’t have to find out from Eli again.” His grin returns. “But if you think the tracking is crazy, you probably don’t want to know what I had planned just in case things went the other way.” He glances between us. “We’ve been going at it like bunnies for weeks and I was starting to think we made a poly-baby.” He pops a green bear into his mouth and chews. “I think I’d be one of five really great dads.”

Sage gives Milo a look. “You created a pregnancy plan?”

“It was less of a plan and more of a Google doc I kept adding to every time I had a new thought,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at her. “All the logistical hurdles—crib placement, stroller storage, which brand of car seat is least likely to explode during a collision, that sort of thing. Also, I emailed Holden a short list of approved middle names.”

“That’s what that email was about?” I say, unable to stop the smile curving my mouth. “I thought you were sending me a hit list.”

Milo shrugs. “Tomato, tomahto.”

Sage snorts. “If I was actually pregnant⁠—”

“I’d have proposed before the stick dried, so don’t even joke.” He holds up a finger, the top half of a yellow gummy bear stuck to the tip. “My plan had a ring already picked out—one for all of us because inclusivity is important. I was also toying with blending all our surnames into one. You know—Adams, Ward, Mehlar, Cross, Raine, and Hart. I ran some combinations.”

“Of course you did,” I mutter.

“Option one: Wardams-Crossmehlar-Hartraine. Sounds like a law firm that exclusively handles divorce.”

“No,” Sage says.

“Option two: Mehlraine-Adamscrosshart. Very bold.” He drops into a soft pharmaceutical baritone. “Ask your doctor if Mehlraine-Adamscrosshart is right for you. Side effects may include nausea, dry mouth, and five husbands.”