Max
I don’t knock this time. The back door is unlocked—a lapse in judgment that makes my blood cold. I let myself into the kitchen, the scent of lavender and old floor wax hitting me. Lena is standing at the counter, her back to me, shoulders tense enough to snap a bolt.
"You’re late, Lena. I told you to be home by eight," I say, my voice cutting through the hum of the refrigerator.
She whirls around, a kitchen knife in one hand and a look of pure, unadulterated fury in her eyes. "Get out of my house, Max! How many times do I have to tell you that my locks aren't an invitation?"
"Your locks are a joke," I counter, leaning against the doorframe. "If I can get in, a Viper can get in. And unlike me, they won't stop at the kitchen."
"I don't care!" she shouts, though she keeps her voice l
