“It’s nothing.” She waves a dismissive hand, stubbing the cigarette out on the bottom of her boot, but I can see panic creeping into her expression. “Just... rats in the walls or something.”
“Rats that meow?” I arch an eyebrow.
Another meow, louder and more pitiful this time.
“Fuck,” Harper mutters under her breath. She drops the cigarette butt over the edge of the balcony and stands, backing toward her room like she can somehow block me from hearing. “Okay, fine. It’s a cat. But before you run off to tell Helen?—”
“I’m not going to tell anyone.” I hold up my hands. “Can I see it?”
She stops mid-retreat. “What?”
“The cat. Can I meet it?”
Harper stares at me like I’ve just offered to help her hide a body. “You... want to meet my cat?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, trying to look casual even though my chest’s doing that stupid clench-flip thing again. “I like cats.”
For a long moment, she just looks at me, clearly trying to figure out if this is some kind of trick. Then her shoulders drop, just a fraction.
“Fine. But if you’re secretly planning to narc on me?—”
“I’m not.”
“—I will absolutely murder you in your sleep.”
“Noted.”
She pushes open the door to her room, and I follow her inside.
Oh.
It’s chaos.
Her duffel bag has exploded across the floor, clothes everywhere—bras draped over the desk chair, jeans in a heap by the closet, a leather jacket tossed on the bed. The nightstand has a scattered collection of items: loose change, a sketchpad, cigarette papers, and what looks like a mood ring. An empty canvas leans haphazardly against the back of the closet.
My fingers itch to organize something. Anything.Everything.
The hangers in the closet are all facing different directions, and it’s setting my teeth on edge. There are three water glasses scattered around the room, one on the floor.
Rule #23: Always keep your space organized. Chaos breeds more chaos, and chaos is how you lose control.
I force myself to focus on the cat instead.
“This is Sox,” Harper says.
Sox—I get it, the white fur on the paws that look like little socks—is a tiny gray-and-white kitten currently tangled in a T-shirt on the floor. When she sees Harper, she mews again, louder, and starts climbing out.
“Come here, baby girl.” Harper’s entire demeanor changes. Her voice goes soft and tender as she scoops up the kitten. Sox immediately starts purring, the sound disproportionately loud for such a small creature.
I watch as Harper brings Sox up to her face, letting the kitten headbutt her nose. She’s smiling—really smiling,not that sharp-edged smirk she usually wears. It transforms her face entirely.
“Right. The cat from your backpack earlier. Did you bring her with you from East Texas?” I ask, moving closer.
“No, I found her today. This girl, Marie, was trying to save a litter from her dad, who was threatening to drown them.” She shudders and cuddles Sox closer. Sox climbs up her chest to perch on her shoulder, batting at her long hair. “What kind of asshole does that?”
The genuine anger in her voice—the protectiveness—makes my chest tight.
“Can I?” I gesture toward Sox.