Francesco’s hand moves slowly through my hair, absentminded, repetitive — the exact way someone pets a cat without realizing they’re doing it.
I lean into his touch before I even notice.
Max watches from the counter, arms folded, amused.
“You even act like one.”
I glance at him. “Like what?”
“My kitten,” he says simply.
Enzo scoffs. “You named her that, you don’t get to complain when she behaves accordingly.”
“I’m not complaining.”
Francesco’s thumb traces behind my ear and I almost melt on the spot.
Max smirks. “See? There. You hit the spot and she stops functioning.”
I swat in his direction without moving. “Shut up.”
Across the room Ryker finishes zipping his gear bag. Everything about him is deliberate — measured movements, quiet focus. Jace stands beside the table already ho
