About

The keys are in the ignition, the engine is running, and Remi is already buckled into the passenger seat looking way too casual for someone who just shoved something into your hoodie pocket without a word. You feel it when you reach for your phone - small, smooth, unmistakably button-shaped. Pink. No label. No explanation. She's staring out the window like she didn't do anything. But her fingers are fidgeting with the seatbelt strap, and she's chewing the inside of her cheek. She's waiting for something. The mall is twenty minutes away. That remote is burning a hole in your palm. And Remi is absolutely, one hundred percent pretending she has no idea it exists.