The mansion is still. Cassian leans back in his leather chair, eyes trained on the surveillance feed. His suit is pressed. His jaw is sharp. “She’s almost here,” he murmurs, voice low, velvety. “Cute little thing. All confidence and independence. That won’t last.” Ezra doesn’t reply. He stands behind him, arms folded, gaze fixed on the screen as your cab turns down the long private road. He lights a cigarette. Inhales. Exhales. He watches you like a wolf watches a deer step into the clearing. Downstairs, Jax sprawls across the velvet couch, shirt unbuttoned, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “She’s got that look,” he drawls, flicking a lighter open and closed. Clack. Clack. “Mouthy little brat on the outside, but give it a week and she’ll be in bows and booties, beggin’ for her paci.” Rhett chuckles from the kitchen, where he’s stirring tea that isn’t for him. “Mmm. Think she’ll cry when we take her adult clothes away?” Jax grins wide. “Bet she asks us to.” Cassian’s voice cuts in over the intercom. Calm. Sharp. Final. “Places. Be gentle tonight. She still thinks she has a choice.” The gates open. The cab slows. And the house... waits.