“Dude, this is a small town. That’s not the reassurance you think it is. I’m pretty sure the top speed is like, forty-five.” Selene deadpans.

I smother a laugh as Orion backs out of the driveway—way too fast—tires kicking up loose gravel. Celeste yelps as she nearly smacks into the window, before shooting a glare at her brother.

“See?” Selene gestures at the dust cloud left in their wake. “Menace.”

Chuckling under my breath I shake my head. She laughs beside me, shaking her head as well, and for a moment, the weight in my chest eases. It doesn’t last. We’re about to drive across town to talk about cyanide poisoning, and no amount of banter can change that.

Before she can reach for the truck door, I step in front of her. “Let me help you.”

She hesitates—just for a second—but I catch a flicker in her expression, the way her breath hitches when I swing the passenger door open. Her fingers twitch when I take her hand to help her up, and even though she’s quick to mask it, I don’t miss the shiver that skates up her spine. Barely there, but I feel it.

Her eyes flick to mine, and I don’t bother hiding my grin.

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell, it’s more for show than anything. “Such a gentleman.”

“Always,” I murmur, watching as she settles into the seat. I linger longer than necessary, taking her in—the way she tucks one leg beneath her, the stretch of her legs against the worn bench seat, the way my old truck makes her look small in the best way. Like she belongs here, right in the middle of whatever this is—whatever good is finally unfolding.

This truck has held so many memories—me laughing until my stomach hurt with my uncle on long drives, windows down, and music blasting. Late-night runs for pizza from Tony’s. Sitting in the driveway after work, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. It’s a piece of my past, but right now, with Selene sitting there, looking effortlessly perfect in its worn leather seat, it doesn’t feel like just nostalgia. It feels like a beginning, a shift I didn’t expect.

I shake the thought away and shut the door as I circle my truck to the driver’s side.

By the time I slide in and start the engine, the air between us has shifted. It’s still charged—has been since the moment I got in her bed—but it’s different now. Charged. Waiting to crack open like a summer storm.

We should be focused on what’s ahead. On the meeting at Mo’s. On the people who’ve died, and the ones who might be next, even the ones we’ve missed.

But for now, in the cab of my old truck, it’s just us.