My breath locks in my throat. I’ve spent this entire time trying to keep the truth away from her. I take another step forward, lower my voice to something quiet, even, firm. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Tate.”

Tate smirks, like I’m the one missing something. “Who’s joking?”

I don’t answer, because I don’t like where this is going. For the first time since she got here, I’m starting to think Tate isn’t just fucking with me. He’s finally making his move.

Tate’s smirk doesn’t waver, his body already coiled like he’s about to launch into some new bullshit. He moves like he’s about to stand, but doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, considering, measuring, dragging this out just to make me sweat.

Then, right as I step forward, right as I reach to stop whatever the hell he’s about to do, he grins, eyes flashing with amusement. “You sure you don’t want to introduce me, little brother?”

My stomach drops. Before I can stop him, before I can throw out some excuse, before I can block the doorway or grab his arm or do anything to slow this down, he’s out of the room in a flash, down the hall in seconds, taking the stairs two at a time, moving so fast that I barely have a second to react.

“Fucker—” I bolt after him, tearing through the doorway, pushing off the railing, following the sound of his footsteps pounding against the hardwood.

He’s already there, standing at the bottom of the staircase, grinning like the devil himself, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes cutting toward Haven like this is the best thing that’s happened to him all night.

Haven? She freezes. I see it, the sharp inhale, the way she physically stills, the way her head tilts just slightly, like her brain is trying to process what the hell she’s looking at.

I reach the bottom of the stairs right after him, heart hammering, pulse racing, already waiting for the moment she pieces it all together. Instead, she blinks. She looks at me, then back at him. Then back at me again. Her mouth opens, closes.

“…Wait,” she finally breathes, brow furrowing, voice laced with pure disbelief.

Before either of us can say anything, before I can explain, before I can control the damage, before Tate can do whatever the hell he’s planning, she blurts out the obvious. “You’re twins?”

Tate grins wider, soaking in the moment like he’s been waiting for this exact reaction. I just stand there, gripping the railing, bracing myself.

I don’t know if I just got lucky, or if Tate just gave himself a front-row seat to the destruction that’s coming next.