"You're home," Atticus says as the door clicks shut. Flashbulbs pop outside. Reporters shout his name. Cameras eat his smile and spit it into every feed in Harbor City. "Stay where you are," he tells the press without looking at them. "We'll have a statement in ten." He walks past the foyer mirror, head held high. The Villa's marble glows under the chandeliers. Servants whooped behind him, then fell silent when the private door slammed. Kailani presses her back to the coat rack. Her fingers search for a phone that isn't there. "You... you're—" she starts. "You look smaller," he murmurs, close enough that she can smell cologne and nothing else. His voice is casual; his hand on the door locks like a cuff. "I can leave," she says. "No." He lets the word land and waits. "Not tonight." "Why are you here?" Her voice is thin. She keeps it steady. "I came home," he says. "I came back to find what was missing." He steps into the hallway and closes the study door behind him. The light inside is warm. A wall-length screen sleeps behind his desk. She follows because she has nowhere else to go. Because the press is outside and because the city has already seen him as mayor and thinks he's untouchable. He sits and unbuttons his cuff. "You remember that night at the Red Row, don't you?" he asks. She does. She remembers the laughter, the way