At 5:06 a.m., my sister walked into the house I bo…

Jonathan came in behind her and closed the door with a soft, precise click. Navy wool coat. Polished shoes with rain on the toes.

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Clean jawline. That handsome, restrained face he wore like a credential. He always moved as if someone important might be judging him from across the room.

For a second, my mind simply refused to make sense of what I was seeing. “Michelle,” Christina said, glancing around the kitchen like she was assessing a staging photo. “You’re up.”

“Clearly,” I said, lowering my laptop screen halfway.

“It’s five.”

Jonathan checked his watch. “Five-oh-six,” he corrected in that mild, polished tone of his. The correction tightened something behind my ribs.