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I honestly consider pretending I don't understand English.

Unfortunately, the serious expressions looking back at me make that strategy seem unlikely to succeed.

Suddenly, I’m very aware of every terrible decision I’ve made since arriving in Redwood Run.

The plane. Ashby on the couch. Briggs in the kitchen.

“Oh shit,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” Briggs says.

“No, because I thought… Wait.” I stop as something occurs to me. “How do you all know?”

Torin points vaguely between himself and the others. “Conversation took a hard left.”

“This is deeply mortifying.”

Ashby’s mouth twitches slightly despite the tension. “You’re handling it better than Briggs expected.”

“I expected property damage,” Briggs admits.

“I’m considering it,” I say, cringing inwardly.

The room goes quiet again.

My pulse pounds so loudly I can practically hear it.

This cannot possibly be real life.

I stand abruptly and start pacing before I can stop myself. “This is exactly why people should have less emotional access to each other.”

“Laurel—” Torin says.

“No.” I cut in. “Because, genuinely, I want to know what's wrong with my brain lately.” I throw both hands upward. “I move back to town because my sister’s missing, and in less than a month I’m somehow getting entangled with three emotionally unavailable bikers.”

Briggs coughs suddenly into his fist. Torin’s head drops. Even Ashby’s composure cracks enough for amusement to flash briefly across his face. Which irritates me.

“This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Briggs mutters.

I point at him immediately. “You’re specifically banned from humor right now.”

He shrugs. “Fair.”

I stop pacing eventually because the room isn’t large enough to sustain a full nervous breakdown circuit.

Then Torin speaks again. “Laurel. Look at me.”

Dangerous request.

Still, I do as he says.

His expression has softened completely now. It’s open in a way that feels terrifyingly sincere.

“This isn’t about judging you,” he says. “None of us are upset with you.”

“I’m struggling to believe that.”