The drive back to the mansion took longer than expected because Iris insisted on documenting every single detail of the festival for her manga research. Sarah had claimed shotgun and spent the entire ride taking selfies with different facial expressions, each one apparently representing a different emotion she wanted to capture for her art.

"The fog machines were genius," Sarah announced for the fifteenth time, scrolling through her phone. "And Isaiah, you looked like you stepped out of an otome game. I’m definitely using you as reference for my next character design."

"Please don’t."

"Too late. I already sketched you during breakdown. Harlow said I could keep it."

I glanced in the rearview mirror at Iris, who was grinning like she’d won the lottery. The festival had been everything she’d hoped for and more. She’d made forty-three dollars in tips from the dessert station, acquired enough manga recommendations from Sabrina to last six months, and somehow convinced Vivienne to teach her proper spreadsheet formatting techniques.

"Your girlfriend is scary," Sarah continued, completely oblivious to the complexity of that statement.

"Which one?"

Sarah paused mid-selfie. "Wait, you actually have four girlfriends? I thought Iris was exaggerating for dramatic effect."

"It’s complicated."

"That’s what people say when they’re sleeping with multiple women but don’t want to admit it." Sarah’s observation was delivered with the blunt honesty that only fourteen-year-olds possessed. "My mom’s divorce lawyer says that’s the most common phrase in family court."

Iris snorted with laughter. "Sarah’s mom is on husband number three. She’s an expert in complicated relationship dynamics."

"Mom says men who claim things are complicated are usually just cowards who can’t make decisions." Sarah turned in her seat to look at me directly. "Are you a coward, Isaiah?"

The question hit harder than it should have coming from a kid in platform Mary Janes and enough glitter to blind a satellite. Because the honest answer was yes, probably, at least when it came to the Valentine sisters. I’d spent weeks letting them make all the decisions while I stood around looking confused and accepting whatever arrangement they proposed.

"I’m working on it."

"That’s not a no."

Smart kid. Too smart.

The Range Rover’s GPS announced our arrival at the Valentine estate, and I pulled through the front gates that opened automatically. The mansion looked different in the early evening light, less imposing and more like something from a fairy tale. Which was probably intentional. Everything about this place was designed to create specific impressions.

"Holy shit," Sarah breathed, pressing her face against the window. "This is where you work? It’s like Downton Abbey had a baby with a Disney castle."

"Language," Iris warned automatically, though she was grinning.

"Sorry. Holy heck. Better?"

Mrs. Tanaka met us at the front entrance, her timing perfect as always. She looked completely unsurprised to see Sarah’s gyaru fashion explosion, which either meant she’d been warned or nothing shocked her anymore after twenty years with the Valentine family.

"How was the festival?" she asked while helping carry bags and costume pieces.

"Profitable," Vivienne announced, appearing in the foyer with her tablet. She’d changed out of her vampire costume into a cashmere sweater and dark jeans, looking like she’d stepped out of a magazine spread about casual elegance. "Final numbers show we outsold 3-C by forty-seven percent. Patterson is considering framing the receipts."

"Where are the others?"

"Cassidy is in the garage working on her car. She claims she needs to decompress, but I suspect she’s avoiding conversation about Rebecca Ashworth." Vivienne’s tone suggested she had opinions about that situation. "Harlow is in her room editing festival photos for social media. She’s created what she calls a highlight reel, though it’s mostly just different angles of you making coffee."

"And Sabrina?"

"Library. Reading. She said something about needing to research rotation scheduling methodologies, which sounds ominous even by her standards."

The familiar chaos of the Valentine household wrapped around us like a warm blanket. Staff moved through the background managing the daily operations of extreme wealth, while the sisters occupied their respective territories throughout the mansion. It felt like coming home, which was dangerous thinking for someone who technically lived in a Kensington apartment with a growing water stain.

"Can we see the garage?" Sarah asked with the enthusiasm of someone who’d never met a boundary she couldn’t cross. "I want to meet the scary sister who threatened to kill people over tennis scores."

"Cassidy doesn’t threaten people over tennis scores."

"What does she threaten people over?"

"Everything else."

Sarah’s eyes lit up like this was the best possible answer. Iris shook her head with the resigned expression of someone whose best friend had questionable taste in entertainment.

We found Cassidy in the six-car garage, lying on her back underneath the Toyota Supra with her legs sticking out. She’d changed into ripped jeans and a tank top that had seen better years, and there were grease stains on her hands that suggested actual mechanical work rather than performance.

"Cassidy, you have visitors."

Her response was muffled by the car’s undercarriage, but it sounded distinctly uncomplimentary. A few seconds later she rolled out on a mechanics creeper, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and a smudge of oil across her cheekbone.

"Oh. It’s you." She sat up, using the back of her hand to push hair away from her face. "And the tiny gyaru who was taking pictures all day."

Sarah stepped forward without hesitation, apparently immune to Cassidy’s intimidation factor. "Your car is beautiful. Is that a 2023 GR Supra? The 3.0 Premium with the adaptive suspension?"

Cassidy blinked, clearly not expecting technical knowledge from someone who looked like an anime character come to life. "2022. But yes, the 3.0 Premium. You know cars?"

"My dad’s a mechanic. He let me help rebuild a Mustang last summer before Mom found out and made him stop because it wasn’t ladylike." Sarah circled the Supra with the reverent attention usually reserved for religious artifacts. "This is completely stock?"

"Mostly. I did the exhaust myself, and the cold air intake. Nothing too crazy." Cassidy’s defensive posture had shifted into something approaching pride. "Your dad taught you well if you can spot the year difference."

"The side vents are slightly different. 2022 has the cleaner lines." Sarah ran her fingers along the car’s flank with obvious appreciation. "Can I see the engine?"

Twenty minutes later, Cassidy and Sarah were deep in conversation about horsepower modifications and turbo upgrades while Iris sat on a workbench sketching their interaction. I leaned against the garage wall and watched one of the most aggressive people I knew patiently explain fuel injection systems to a fourteen-year-old in a miniskirt.

"She’s different when she’s talking about something she actually cares about," Iris observed quietly.

"Most people are."

"Not you. You’re the same level of exhausted and sarcastic regardless of the topic."

"That’s called consistency."

"That’s called emotional unavailability."