I close my bedroom door and lean against it, letting out a slow breath.
My face is still warm — annoyingly warm — and I absolutely refuse to think about why.
Black tracksuit on. It fits a little too well, hugging where it shouldn’t matter that it does. I leave my hair loose, grab my gloves, and head back downstairs before I can second-guess myself.
I step into the kitchen.
They’re still there.
Exactly where I left them.
Five pairs of eyes lock onto me instantly.
Max’s mouth curves first. “Back already?”
“I’m leaving,” I answer, walking toward the door.
Francesco glances over me slowly. “Your little tracksuit fits nicely on you.”
“Does it?” I hum.
Enzo tilts his head. “You know it does.”
Cassian watches, observant as ever. Alex doesn’t say anything yet, just studies my face like
