“You cool for a sec?” I ask, keeping my voice easy as we reach the living room and she settles into the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

Haven doesn’t even look up. “Sure,” she says. “I’ll just sit here and judge your show recommendations.”

Normally, I’d tease her back, throw some dumb comment about her own trash taste in movies or the fact that she rewatches the same comfort shows like it’s a personality trait.

Right now, I just need to go. I take the steps two at a time, each footfall a little heavier, a little sharper, a little more deliberate.

When I’m at his door, without knocking, without giving him the chance to play innocent, I shove it open. Tate’s already sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, like he was just waiting for me to finally show up.

I exhale sharply, forcing my shoulders to stay loose, forcing my voice to stay level even as my chest tightens. “You think this is funny?” I ask, my voice low.

Tate tilts his head, mocking, unimpressed. “Which part?”

My jaw locks. “The part where you left your mask out on purpose.”

Tate doesn’t even pretend to play dumb. He just sits there, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking up at me like he’s already won a game I didn’t even agree to play.

I shut the door behind me, not slamming it, but close. “Real subtle move, leaving that out,” I grit out, voice low, sharp, controlled.

Tate tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching up, amused. “She noticed it, huh?”

We both know she did, and we both know that if she had connected the dots just a little faster, this whole thing would be over.

Tate leans back against the headboard, arms sprawling out at his sides like he’s got all the time in the world. “Let me guess,” he grins. “She made a joke about me.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides. That’s all the answer he needs, he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “God, that’s good.”

I step forward, jaw tight. “You’re fucking with her.”

Tate raises his brows, mocking. “No, Carter. You are.”

That hits harder than I want it to. Haven doesn’t know, she doesn’t know how this entire night has been one long balancing act where I’m just waiting to fall straight through the fucking floor.

I breathe slow, force my muscles to relax, keep my voice steady. “She doesn’t need to know,” I say, the words coming out even, but the weight behind them isn’t up for negotiation.

Tate watches me for a second, studying me, weighing his options. Then he sits forward again, voice quieter this time. “What if I want her to?”