Before Ivy could respond—before she could process the weight of what he was offering—the front door opened.
A woman stepped out onto the porch, and Ivy's breath caught.
She was stunning—tall and curvy, with long dark hair that fell past her shoulders in thick waves. She had the same sharp cheekbones as Boone, the same intense eyes, the same particular way of moving that spoke of confidence and capability. She wore jeans and a black tank top, and even from a distance, Ivy could see the gun holstered at her hip—not concealed, not hidden, just there. A fact of life.
"That's my cousin Reyna," Boone said, his voice carrying a note of affection and exasperation. "She's... protective."
"Of you?"
"Of everyone. Especially me." He squeezed Ivy's hand. "She's gonna interrogate you. Just... be yo
