“No, seriously.” He squints at me. “Are you dying? Or just hungover?

If I give him nothing, maybe he’ll move on.

But Gio doesn’t move on.

He wipes the sweat from his brow with his blocker and tilts his head. “Wonder if something’s going around—Nova feels like shit too.”

My heart skips a beat.

“Oh?” I force myself to sound vaguely interested, not like my entire nervous system just short-circuited. “She sick or something?”

“She said she was tired,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But she looked...” He forces out a laugh. “I know it sounds fucked up, but we have this weird twin thing and I feel like…”

Gio clicks his tongue. “She’s hiding something.”

My stomach drops into my ass.

Every muscle in my body goes taut, like I’ve just taken a hit along the boards and haven’t caught my breath yet.

Hyper-aware.

Razor-sharp.

Reading between the lines like it’s muscle memory.

Gio’s job is to study people; their movements. Their eyes. Where they’re looking to anticipate their next move before they make it.

Fuck.

“Yup, she’s hiding something,” he says—quieter this time, testing the words out on his tongue.

I scoff, but it comes out forced. “Nova isalwayshiding something. That’s her default setting.”

Gio doesn’t smile—he studies me.

And I realize, too late,that this was the wrong thing to say.

He knows his sister and he knows me—and I’ve never been the type of dude to make snarky comments, especially about his personal life. Ever.

Gio narrows his eyes. “You two haven’t spoken lately—have you?”

The air in my lungs freezes. “Eh?”

“You and Nova,” he says, wiping sweat from his jaw with his blocker. “You don’t talk.”

Slowly, I shake my head. “Nope. Why?”

I can’t look at him when I say it.

Can’t meet his eyes.

Because I justliedto his face.

I skate away in a slow circle; shake it off. Look natural. Be cool. Act like I’m gassed from drills and not visibly shaking from the inquisition.

Why the fuck did I stop moving? If I say one more thing to Gio it’s going to be words I can’t take back.

Something like: