"I'm going home today," I said, folding the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
Dagger Martinez didn't look up from the newspaper on the bed. He flicked a page with one finger and kept his eyes on the headline.
"Go," he said without looking back.
I stood there for a beat, bag in hand, listening to the sound of his shoes on marble as he walked out of the master suite. The footsteps didn't slow. They didn't turn.
"Are you staying for dinner?" I called after him.
His voice came from the hallway, flat. "You don't have to report every movement to me."
I closed the bedroom door behind me anyway.
In the elevator I checked my phone twice. The Martinez family group showed nothing new. My thumb hovered over a draft message to Mom, then I deleted it and typed: I'm coming by this morning. No more. I hit send.
The driver opened the car door for me like a courtesy the house insisted on but didn't mean. He glanced at the leather bag slung over my shoulder and then out the window at the city that always looked cleaner from the back seat.
"Where to first?" he asked.
"Cochran Noodle House," I said. "And stop at the pharmacy on 12th. Get a refill."
He nodded. "Anything else?"
"Buy flowers. And gift bags. I'll pay."
"Receipt?"
I almost smiled. "Save it. I keep receipts."
The car threaded through Harbor City's glass
