It’s subtle, barely there, just a glint of something unreadable behind his dark eyes, just a half-second hesitation before he tilts his head slightly, processing, trying to figure out if I really just said what he thinks I said.

The second I realize that I actually managed to shake him even just a little, I almost want to double down. Tate’s gaze wanders over me, trying to decide if I just lost my entire goddamn mind, or if I really meant what I just threw at him.

His lips part like he’s about to say something, maybe to call me out, maybe to throw another dig, maybe just to push this moment into something even worse than it already is, but then he hesitates. Like he’s not sure.

He lets out a slow breath, sharp but quiet, then tilts his head slightly, narrowing his eyes at me like he’s still trying to figure out if I actually just fucking challenged him. And then, finally, voice lower now, slower, he repeats my words right back to me. “You want to bet?”

I don’t fucking breathe, I don’t know what happens if I answer him. And because I don’t know what happens if I don’t. I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I was just one step behind him. And I don’t fucking answer. I think we both already know the answer to that question. Tate doesn’t say anything else. No comeback. No smug response. No final dig to put me back in my place.

He just watches me for a second longer, like he’s making some decision in real time, like he’s recalculating something, like I just did something that changed the entire goddamn game. Then, without another word, without so much as a glance back at me, he moves. He walks past me, past Haven, but as he reaches the edge of the couch, he stops.

Pauses. And then, just loud enough to make sure we both hear it, he speaks. “Don’t let him have everything just yet.”

Haven sucks in a sharp breath, her whole body tensing beside me, and I don’t dare move, don’t dare react, don’t dare do a single goddamn thing as Tate lets the words settle between us. And then, just as easily as he said it, he keeps walking. Doesn’t give me the chance to respond. Doesn’t let me process the full weight of what he just implied before he’s already halfway up the stairs, disappearing into his room like he didn’t just set off a goddamn bomb in mine. I don’t move.