~NICO~
I spot Sienna before she spots us. She is standing near baggage claim, sunglasses on, hair pulled back in a messy knot like she did when she was seventeen and pretending she wasn’t nervous. New York hasn’t dulled her. If anything, it sharpened her.
She turns, her smile breaks first when she sees me.
She drops her bag and walks straight into my chest like she has every right to be there. Her arms wrap around my waist, tight and unguarded, as if she owns the space.
“You look like a corpse,” she says into my jacket.
“You look like trouble,” I reply.
She pulls back, pushing her sunglasses up. Her eyes scan my face. Searching. Measuring. She always does that. She always sees more than I want her to.
“So,” she says, tapping my chest. “This is what grief and power look like mixed t
