I accidentally farted as I stepped out of the car, the sound small but embarrassingly loud in my own ears. My eyes flicked left, then right, heart skipping as I checked to see if anyone noticed.

  Nothing. No reactions.

  I let out a quiet breath of relief.

  The sky above us was completely dark now, the kind of deep, inky bck that only comes after a long drive through empty roads.

  Forty minutes had passed without me even realizing it. The air was way cooler too, brushing against my skin as I reached back into the truck.

  I grabbed the shopping bags—again. The weight pulled at my arms as I lifted them, pstic handles stretching, rustling softly as I adjusted my grip. My fingers were sore by now, but I didn't compin. Not when I was walking beside her.

  We headed toward the house, its lights glowing warmly against the night like a beacon. Car walked at my side, close enough that our arms nearly brushed. She gnced at me and smiled—soft, content, the kind of smile that made the ache in my arms feel completely worth it.

  "It still feels weird," I said quietly as we reached the front door, my voice low, almost swallowed by the night. "You just... killed someone in broad daylight."

  Car didn't slow as she unlocked the door. It clicked open, and instantly the familiar warmth of the mansion wrapped around us. Clean air, expensive wood, something faintly floral—it hit my senses all at once, grounding and disorienting at the same time.

  "Forget about it, Miguel," she said firmly, not even looking back. "She deserved it for being a groper."

  I nodded to myself. Fair.

  Still... the timing, the pce—doing something like that out in the open felt unreal, like a line had been crossed with an audience watching.

  But it was already over. Thinking about it now wouldn't change anything.

  I shrugged it off and followed her inside, our footsteps echoing softly as we climbed the stairs. Each step creaked gently beneath us, the house settling around its own quiet luxury.

  When we reached the second floor, something caught my attention.

  Le.

  She stood near the sliding gss door that led to the balcony, completely still, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of moonlight. Her rifle rested against the wall nearby, untouched. She wasn't watching us—her eyes were fixed outside, scanning the darkness beyond the gss, calm and alert, like a sentinel.

  "Does Le ever sleep?" I asked quietly as we passed her, my voice barely above a murmur.

  Car didn't answer right away. We reached our room, and the small heart sticker I'd pced on the door was still there, perfectly intact.

  Seeing it made something warm flutter in my chest—proof that even in a house like this, something soft could survive.

  "She does," Car whispered at st, easing the door shut behind us. "Occasionally."

  She walked further in and set the shopping bags down on the desk she'd had pced there just for me a few days ago. Seeing my things slowly take over the room made it feel less like a mansion and more like ours.

  "She says that if she sleeps too long," Car continued, her voice lowering, "she relives the incident... the one where she lost her husband."

  I paused, the weight of her words settling in.

  "Poor girl," I said softly. "Has she tried therapy?"

  I crossed the room and stepped into the closet, grabbing a handful of hangers. The faint smell of fresh wood and clean fabric lingered in the air.

  When I came back out, I started hanging up my shirts—six on the rack already, and that was only from one bag.

  Car leaned against the desk, arms crossed loosely. "No... she says it makes her anxious. Being vulnerable like that." She sighed. "Maybe I'll try to convince her again."

  I nodded, sliding another shirt into pce, the quiet routine of it helping me process everything.

  For a moment, the room felt still—just us, the soft rustle of fabric, and the unspoken understanding that everyone in this house carried scars... some just better hidden than others.

  "Losing someone like that..." I murmured, sliding the empty Dior shopping bag to the side with my foot. The paper crinkled softly against the floor. "It must be hell for her. Every single day."

  My hand hovered over the next bag—the one I was most excited about. The Louis Vuitton logo stared back at me, rich brown leather peeking through the tissue paper. Before I could pull it free, my phone buzzed in my hand, the sudden vibration making me flinch.

  I couldn't tell if Car had noticed...

  "Just imagining myself losing you..." she said, stepping closer, her hand coming down on my shoulder, warm and grounding. Her fingers pressed in slightly, possessive without trying to be. "It pisses me off."

  I swallowed and unlocked my phone. For a split second, my heart jumped—some stupid, instinctive fear. Elena was blocked. Had been for weeks. So it couldn't be her.

  The name on the screen made my stomach drop anyway.

  Jenny.

  I hadn't spoken to her since she gave me that ride. It felt like another lifetime ago. My thumb hovered, then tapped the message open.

  "hey Miguel, if you're seeing this please reach back. I just saw your face printed on papers as missing. please don't tell me you're dead or anything."

  The room felt colder all of a sudden.

  Missing...

  My eyes reread the word over and over, like it might change if I stared long enough. The mansion—so big, so safe a second ago—felt strangely far away. Like I was looking at my life through gss.

  My face... printed. On paper. Out there.

  I felt Car's hand tighten on my shoulder, her presence anchoring me as something heavy and unfamiliar settled in my chest.

  "I'm fine, don't worry, I'm just in Mexico..." I typed back quickly, my thumbs moving faster than my thoughts.

  Car tilted her head, eyes narrowing just a touch—not angry, just alert. "Who's that...?" she asked.

  I lifted my phone toward her and she took it from my hand, reading the screen in silence. Her jaw tightened—not much, but enough that I noticed. The room felt quieter, like it was waiting on her reaction.

  "It's an old friend," I said a little too fast. "She's a lesbian—don't worry."

  Car gnced at me sideways, one perfectly shaped brow lifting. "That's not what I'm worried about, cari?o."

  She handed the phone back, then sat on the edge of the bed, posture suddenly sharp, calcuting. "Your face being printed as missing is not nothing."

  My stomach twisted. "I didn't think Elena would care much... I mean... I just left."

  "You didn't just leave," she corrected calmly. "You disappeared. No goodbye, no trace, no phone pings where people expect you to be." She exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. "To the outside world, that's scary."

  I swallowed. "Am I... in danger?"

  Car looked at me then—really looked at me—and whatever she saw on my face made something soften in her expression. She reached out, cupping my cheek.

  "No," she said firmly. "You're protected. But this means we have to be smarter."

  She took my phone again, already thinking ten steps ahead. "No more replying tonight. I'll have someone handle the paper trail. Missing posters disappear all the time."

  Then, quieter, closer, her forehead resting against mine:

  "You're mine, Miguel. And nobody takes what's mine."

  My stomach fluttered, that light, dizzy feeling spreading through me like warmth.

  I leaned in without thinking, closing the distance, and our lips met—slow at first, unhurried.

  Her kiss was confident but tender, like she knew exactly how to pull me in without rushing me. When her tongue brushed against mine, my breath caught, my hands tightening slightly as if to steady myself. Everything about her felt familiar and intoxicating all at once—her taste, the heat of her skin, the way she held me like I was something precious.

  I pulled back just enough to breathe, my forehead brushing hers, my voice low and honest.

  "I'm yours and only yours now, Car... nobody else's."

  The words felt heavy in the best way, like a promise I meant with my whole chest.

  I leaned back in, and this time she kissed me deeper, her hands roaming up my sides, slow and deliberate, sending shivers through me.

  Her touch wasn't rushed or demanding—it was ciming, reassuring, as if she was answering my words without needing to say anything back.

  We stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside the room fading until there was nothing left but the quiet intensity of us.

  ———