The spaces we dont name
The Ducati screamed down the coastal highway, engine snarling like it had teeth.
Gwen leaned into the speed, hair whipping behind her, the world narrowing to the stripe of road and the warmth pressed to her back. Toni's arms wrapped around her—secure, relaxed, trusting. Gwen shouldn't have liked it as much as she did.
She did anyway.
Every subtle shift of Toni's body against hers made something in Gwen's chest tighten in a way that felt both dangerous and inevitable.
Behind her, Toni laughed into the wind, the sound ripped away immediately.
They glided off the highway when music drifted through the salt-heavy air.
They slowed when music drifted through the salt-heavy air.
A small carnival clung to the edge of the beach, string lights swaying like they might lift off if the wind picked up. Gwen parked the Ducati, and Toni hopped off lightly, scanning the booths.
Her eyes landed on the dart stand.
"Oh," she said, smiling like someone who'd found a loaded toy at a family gathering. "That's dangerous."
The tone wasn't fear—it was nostalgia.
Two daughters of mafia families, raised around sharper toys than balloons and darts.
Gwen snorted. "Toni, it's a carnival. Not a weapons deal."
"Pointy objects? Competitive aim?" Toni shrugged. "Feels like home."
Gwen shook her head, failing to hide her smile. "Your childhood worries me."
"As it should," Toni said cheerfully, already walking toward the booth.
"You want to play."
"I want to win," Toni said.
Gwen smirked. "You want *me* to win."
Toni turned, mock-offended. "You think I can't do it?"
Gwen lifted both hands. "I believe fully in your dramatic effort."
Toni laughed and paid, stepping up to the line.
Pop.
Pop.
The third dart skimmed past its mark.
Miss.
Toni sighed, shoulders slumping just enough to sell the disappointment. The attendant slid a small consolation prize across the counter—soft, unimpressive.
"Figures," Toni muttered, taking it anyway.
Gwen watched her for a beat, then calmly stepped forward and placed her own money down.
Her throws were effortless. Pop. Pop. Pop.
The top prize came down.
Gwen turned. "What do you want?"
Toni studied the prizes, then shrugged lightly. "Surprise me."
Gwen handed her the one Toni had been eyeing all along.
Toni grinned—and immediately pressed the smaller prize into Gwen's arms. "Then this one's yours."
Gwen blinked. "You won that."
"So?" Toni said easily. "I still got what I wanted."
They walked away together, laughter trailing behind them as the carnival noise faded into the night.
---
The beach was quieter.
Moonlight spilled silver across the water, waves folding in on themselves like secrets they didn't want overheard. They kicked off their shoes and walked barefoot, talking about nothing—music, places they'd never been, childhood stories that felt softer with time.
Then Gwen slowed.
"You ever think about what happens next?" she asked casually.
Toni heard the weight beneath it.
"What—after tonight?" she replied lightly. "We pretend we didn't steal a Ducati?"
Gwen smiled, but it didn't quite hold. "You know what I mean."
Toni turned, walking backward now, sand cool beneath her feet. "I think if I think too far ahead, I stop enjoying where I am."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that keeps me sane."
A pause.
"You and I," Gwen said carefully. "We've always been good. I like that."
Toni stopped walking. Her smile softened—not deflecting, not dismissive.
"I like *you*," she said. "You make things quieter."
Gwen's breath hitched.
"And I don't want to ruin that," Toni continued gently, "by dragging it somewhere loud and complicated."
"So we just… don't talk about it?" Gwen asked.
Toni tilted her head. "We talk about everything else. The parts that belong to us."
She held Gwen's gaze—warm, sincere.
No rejection.
No promises.
Just a careful sidestep around something sharp.
They walked on, shoulders nearly brushing, the tide whispering at their feet.
Daughters of powerful families.
Raised inside cages with prettier names.
Choosing, for one night, not to name the bars.
Later
Gwen sat alone on a low stone wall in the Vale mansion overlooking the water, the Ducati already returned, the carnival lights long gone.
The small prize Toni had given her rested in her lap.
She turned it over slowly.
Only now did it settle.
Toni hadn't avoided the question.
She had *answered it without saying no*.
*You make things quieter.*
*I don't want to ruin that.*
Not rejection.
Protection.
Toni had seen the trap forming and stepped sideways—leaving the door open, refusing to pretend the bars weren't real.
Gwen exhaled.
"That was… skilled," she murmured, a faint smile touching her lips.
Gwen stood, resolve settling in her chest—quiet, unshakable.
"Doesnt mean Im giving up" she said softly. "Ill change your mind."
She slipped the small prize into her jacket pocket and headed inside.
ELSEWHERE
Eli sat alone in her darkened room, lights off, window cracked open to the cool night. Her right arm throbbed faintly beneath the cast—an ache she refused to ease. Pain wasn't something you escaped.
Pain was something you endured.
Roman's subtle nod replayed in her head. Approval, given in the smallest form, sharp enough to cut.
She didn't expect more.
Vale children didn't get time, or patience. They got tests. They got expectations scaled like cliffs.
She had seen it in Althea—ruthless, polished, untouchable.
She had seen it in Jason—bruised knuckles, broken ribs, always coming back for more.
And Toni… Toni was different. Roman always said she inherited the softness of the Monroe blood. All the siblings understood—quietly, wordlessly—that they would shoulder more so Toni wouldn't have to.
The princess of the family. Protected. Sheltered.
Eli was not that.
Eli was blood and grit and endurance. Father had said once, when she was young, that she reminded him of Althea.
She'd lived off that one sentence for years.
Her left hand curled into a fist.
Some people survived by choosing softer angles.
Vale children survived by learning how to push through bone.
Outside, the wind blew in and out.
Inside, Eli didn't move.
She wouldn't break.
She couldn't.