Felix's POV
I wasn't drunk.
Buzzed? Sure. Enough to feel warm. A little reckless. But not enough to forget what she said. Or how she looked at me like I was the only gravity holding her up.
She was the drunk one. Sloppy, blinking too slow, asking the most nonsensical shit like it was the key to the universe.
"Does your aunt hate me?"
"What did she mean when she said she'd take care of me?"
I don't even think she knew what she was asking. Hell, I didn't know. And I wasn't about to play translator for a drunk girl trying to uncover some grand conspiracy between my immortal aunt and whatever narrative she'd cooked up in that overthinking little head.
So I nodded. Or told her to sleep. Or stayed quiet and let her spiral.
By the time we got back to the mansion, she couldn't walk straight. Her knees buckled on the steps like gravity had forgotten how to work.
I caught her.
Of course I did.
