The woman standing in the doorway was maybe five feet tall, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, and carried herself like she owned the entire building. Her dark eyes—Sebastian's eyes, the same shape, the same intensity—swept over the apartment behind them, taking in the burned pot on the stove, the blankets on the floor, the general air of two men who had been hiding from the world for twenty-four hours."Jesus Christ, Sebastian," she said, pushing past him into the apartment. "It smells like a dumpster fire in here. Did you try to cook?"Sebastian closed the door slowly. His face was doing something complicated—surprise, relief, fear, all of them fighting for space."Mom," he said. "What are you doing here?""I saw the news." She set her grocery bag on the counter and started pulling things out. Bread. Butter. A container of soup. A bag of apples. "You think I was going to stay in Florida while my son's face is all over the internet?""You live in Florida now?""Since last year. I tol
Last Updated : 2026-04-19 Read more