~Fallon~
The LA skyline looked different from above.
Not bright or electric like the travel blogs promised—just muted, like someone had dialed the saturation down on a place I once called home. Maybe it was the tinted windows of Reid’s jet. Or maybe it was my brain, trying to protect itself from the inevitable crash landing of returning to a life I’d left behind.
The descent was smooth, too smooth.
Reid didn’t say a word the entire time. Not during the landing, not when the car picked us up, not even when I leaned my forehead against the glass window, watching the familiar blur of the city race past.
But he watched me. Quietly. Constantly.
Mia, of course, was her usual hurricane of comfort and sarcasm. She hummed to herself in the back seat, then leaned forward just as we turned onto the long private drive that snaked toward the mansion.
“Okay. Breathe, bitch,” she said, not unkindly. “You’re not walking into the Hunger Games. It’s just a house. A stupidly large house. With better wat
