"Madison," I said, trying to keep my voice calm but failing spectacularly. Probably sounded more like a choke than an actual word. Great, Carter. Smooth.
The phone burned my hand, warm and insistent, like it knew this was the only lifeline keeping me from losing it entirely. I pressed it closer to my ear, straining for every background sound—there it was: faint air conditioning humming, some echo that screamed fancy house alert, probably marble floors somewhere in the Torres estate.
After all, everything she touches sparkles.
"Peter." Her voice… shit. Not the Madison who walks into rooms like she owns the universe. This was tired, strained, carrying the kind of weight you only notice when the world actually starts folding on top of you.
Armor with cracks. And me? I noticed. Always notice.
