The Cross Family
He’d been too busy to drink anxiety into compliance.
Trina stood at the window with her camera strap slung across her shoulder, the city bright and indifferent beneath her. Mya sat cross-legged on the couch with her phone face down, a gentle reminder to ignore the bait. Keith leaned in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, playing perimeter without making it a performance.
At 11:57, Cameron’s name flashed on Trina’s screen with a video: his face half in frame in a studio booth, eyes fierce. “I’m standing by,” he said. “Say when.” Underneath, a banana-bread emoji. Trina smiled despite herself.