Day's POV
It's too quiet.
The walls echo. The hum of the AC is annoying. Even the silence sounds off—like it's missing someone.
Her.
I sit on the edge of my bed, hoodie still smelling faintly like whatever floral chaos she sprayed on herself before leaping into my personal space. Something soft. Sweet. Ridiculous.
Sky.
She's everywhere.
In the daisy she tucked behind my ear.
In the crumpled candy wrapper she shoved in my jacket pocket.
In the ache that bloomed the moment I stepped out of her house.
I shouldn't like her.
I told myself not to.
But she doesn't make that easy.
She's... magnetic. Loud in ways that aren't just about noise. Loud in presence. Loud in color. Loud in the way she makes people feel things without even trying.
I should be used to her by now.
The way she clings to her father like a baby koala.
The way she braids Kai's hair mid-debrief.
The way she burns eggs but still insists on cooking for the entire house.
The way she makes chaos feel like comfort.
But it's dangerous.
She's dangerous.
Because I want more.
I want her laughing in my kitchen.
Tripping into my arms.
Yapping about zombies and candy and ugly school shoes.
Calling me her favorite.
I shouldn't want that.
She's Seb Ashford's daughter.
A mafia prince's girl.
Too bright. Too soft. Too untouchable.
And still… when she looked at me today—eyes bright, fingers cold from the fridge magnets, smiling like I hung the damn stars—
I knew I was already too far gone.
She's the wrong girl to like.
But I do.
And that's a problem I'm not ready to solve.
Not yet.