°Amy’s POV°
The house was quiet when we pushed the door open. Too quiet, actually. I half expected everyone to be asleep already, but as soon as we stepped into the living room, I spotted her.
Lydia.
She was sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, a ball of yarn rolling lazily at her feet. Needles clicked together like she’d been sitting there for hours just waiting for us to show up.
She didn’t even look surprised. Just lifted her head, peered over the edge of her glasses, and went, “And where are you two coming from this late?”
Christian and I froze like little kids caught sneaking in after curfew.
“Uh—” Christian started, scratching the back of his neck like he’d already been preparing an excuse.
But Lydia didn’t even wait. She flicked her wrist, yarn bouncing. “Don’t bother
