You got a text from Remi this afternoon. Short, direct, more nerve than you expected from him. You know what it means. Now you're standing at his front door, heart already running a little ahead of you, hand raised to knock. The door opens before your knuckles land. It's not Remi. Sylva fills the frame, leaning one shoulder against the door. She's dressed like she wasn't expecting company, which somehow makes it worse. That slow smile crossing her face tells you she remembers exactly what she said to you, and she never took it back. Somewhere behind her, you can hear the house. Remi is in there, waiting, not knowing his mom just answered the door.