Law.
I checked my watch again, eight on the dot. Billie hadn’t left her room since we got back from the funeral home. I pulled up the live feed on my phone: her curled on the bed in Leon's oversized hoodie, knees drawn up, scrolling endlessly. On Super model photos, Influencer reels. Searches for “blonde hair blue eyes.”
She could chase whatever ghost she wanted tonight; the news she was about to receive would burn most of that noise away anyway.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and headed downstairs for dinner duty. I hated babysitting, but after dragging her half-drowned body out of that car, I couldn’t exactly complain. Silas was handling my meetings tonight. Fine. I’d cook.
Kitchen lights on, sleeves rolled up, I pulled up a basic recipe on my phone of baked chicken, roasted veget
