"Get in and mind your manners," Samuel huffed as the black car pulled up. "I know how to mind manners," I said, climbing in with a duffel that still smelled like dirt and sun. Samuel closed the door with one practiced hand. "Manners here are louder. Match the volume." The city unfurled like a different season. Glass towers blinked in the sun. Trucks and yachts moved on separate rhythms. I kept my hands on my knees because Samuel watched and because keeping still seemed like the only rule I could follow without asking. "Everything's so loud here," I said after a block. Samuel glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Then learn to listen louder." "You're not exactly small talk material," I muttered. "You drag secrets out of people with questions," he said. "That will work here or draw knives." "Good. I can handle knives." "You better," he said. "Rafael doesn't like surprises." We passed a billboard for Sorensen Group. The logo was tidy and cold. I didn't know any of the rules attached to it. I only knew the man who kept me safe lived inside its shadow. At the gatehouse a uniformed attendant checked papers and looked at me like I might be a stray. Samuel stepped forward with a photo and the clipped baritone people used to open doors for the family. "Laney Crow. Mr. Sorensen's house. Under my care." The guard's expression shifted from suspicion to duty in a single