Chapter Five

Sloane’s POV

The morning after the patio carried a different weight.

Every shared glance across the kitchen felt sharper. Every accidental brush of movement in the hallway registered like contact. Our mothers moved through the house in their usual overlapping rhythm of conversation and plans, completely unaware of the unfinished almost that still hung in the air from the night before. I poured coffee with steady hands and answered when spoken to, but underneath the ordinary surface my body remained tuned to Jasper’s location in every room.

Distance had failed. Pretending had failed. What remained was a restless, tightening pressure that demanded release or explosion.

The laundry room...