The silence in the office was expensive.
The jagged energy of the hospital and the miles of desert road had finally leveled out into something steady. Outside the glass, the hotel hummed—a low-frequency vibration of wealth and movement.
Spike dropped onto the leather couch, his frame looking larger than the furniture. He didn't just sit; he sank, his body finally admitting to the exhaustion he’d been masking since Chicago. He looked at Leo, then cut his eyes to Ivy.
“So,” Spike said, his voice a low rasp. “We didn't exactly pack for a stay.”
Leo leaned against the doorframe, adjusting his cuffs. “That’s a polite way of saying we’re homeless in a city we partially own.”
Spike shrugged. “We need a floor to crash on, Ivy. Just for tonight.”
Ivy didn't blink. She sat behind her ma
