Val didn't say a word about her conversation with her father when I got home, and I didn't mention the late-night call I'd made to Tasha either.
Not out of secrecy… but because the weight hanging over both of us felt like something we needed to bring to Trent first, before anyone else.
When I stepped through the front door, Val was already downstairs, dressed and waiting.
She'd switched out her work clothes for something clean, sharp, but relaxed—an off-white knit top tucked into dark fitted jeans, a lightweight navy jacket over her shoulders, and her hair tied up with that quiet, no-nonsense precision she only used when she was preparing for something serious.
She had also laid out clothes for me on the couch: a black button-down, sleeves already folded neatly at the elbows, and gray fitted trousers.
"You're fast," I said, shutting the door behind me.
Val didn't smile. Not really. Just a soft tightening at the corner of her lips—focus, not ease.
