Cold house, Warm lies

Kit's car rolled to a stop outside a wrought-iron gate, its pointed tops jagged like teeth. Beyond it, the house loomed: tall and modern, all glass and angles, half-lit like it was only pretending to sleep. Delorah stared up through the windshield, suddenly all too aware of how far from her own world she'd wandered.

"Damn," she murmured. "You live in a Bond villain lair?"

Kit smirked, teeth flashing in the dim car light. "Jealous?"

She shrugged, feigning casual. "A little. Do you have a moat too?"

"Only the emotional kind." He popped the car door open. "C'mon."

The gate buzzed and slid open, slow and heavy. As they rolled through the arching trees lining the drive, Delorah noticed how quiet everything became—like even the crickets knew not to speak too loud here. He parked the car and got out, prompting her to follow him.

She followed Kit toward the front entrance. But as they crossed the final stretch of stone path, a sleek black car suddenly pulled into the circular driveway behind them, its headlights cutting across the manicured lawn like a searchlight.

Kit slowed. "Shit."

The car door opened, and out stepped a tall figure in a gray button-down, phone pressed to his ear, keys jingling in one hand. He moved with crisp, predatory ease.

"Sebastian," Kit muttered.

The man looked up at the sound. His eyes flicked from Kit to Delorah and narrowed slightly. "Well. If it isn't Adrian."

Delorah glanced at Kit, confused. But he didn't correct him.

"I didn't know you were bringing girls back now," Sebastian said smoothly, sliding the phone into his pocket. "Classy."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Kit's voice was flat, arms crossed.

"I'm just grabbing my cufflinks. Big dinner tonight with Dad and a few suits. You'd know about it if you answered your phone."

"I was busy."

Sebastian let the silence stretch. "Of course." Then to Delorah: "Good luck tonight."

Delorah gave a polite half-smile, unsure how else to respond. But her instincts were loud and clear: she didn't like this man.

Sebastian disappeared into the house, the door hissing shut behind him.

Kit exhaled slowly, jaw tense. "Sorry about that."

"Adrian?" she asked gently, a mild trace of fear evident in her tone. She had been scared he would go off again like at the gazebo.

"Long story," he muttered. Then he forced a smile. "C'mon. I've got something better than cufflinks."

The front door whispered open with a soft hydraulic sigh, like a vault. Delorah stepped in behind Kit and immediately felt swallowed by cold, expensive silence.

The entryway was cavernous. Polished marble floors gleamed under recessed lighting, and a sculptural chandelier hung like frozen lightning above them. The walls were museum-blank, except for a massive oil painting above the staircase: a dark ocean, storm-tossed and seething.

"This place is… huge," she said quietly.

Kit dropped his keys in a glass bowl that echoed. "Too big," he muttered. "But Dad thinks square footage equals success."

"Where is he?"

"Out. He's always out. Sebastian too, usually." Kit walked ahead, his voice bouncing off the walls. "It's like living in a really high-end mausoleum."

Delorah followed him through a hall lined with sleek, modern art and into the kitchen, which looked untouched. Stainless steel appliances, spotless countertops, no smell of food or signs of life.

"Do you even cook?" she asked, half-teasing.

Kit snorted. "We have a chef. She leaves food in the fridge with sticky notes. But mostly I just forget to eat."

They climbed a wide staircase, and Delorah noticed again how the house didn't feel like a home. It felt designed—sterile. The only hint of humanity came from Kit's footsteps echoing up toward the second floor.

He pushed open a door at the end of the hall. "This is me."

His bedroom was surprisingly warm—if a little chaotic.

Walls were papered in band posters, and clothes littered the floor in a lazy sprawl. The desk was cluttered with notebooks, lighters, old receipts, a cracked phone, and—Delorah's eyes lingered—a thin straw and two faintly glittering lines on a glass tray.

There was also a record player in the corner, vinyls stacked in a leaning tower beside it. A candle flickered on the windowsill, casting low gold light against the dark curtains.

"This feels more like you," she said softly.

"Yeah. In here, I get to pretend I'm a real person."

Delorah turned toward him at that, but Kit just flopped onto the stool by the desk, spinning it slightly with his foot. The mood shifted—playful tension diffusing into something heavier.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," he said, tapping the tray. "But it's better with company."

Delorah hesitated. The buzz of her nerves was louder than ever now. She sat across from him, the little stool wobbling slightly under her.

"So baby doll… you ever snorted anything before?" Kit asked, a wry little smirk on his lips. He looked like trouble.

It was almost comical—sitting across from each other on mismatched stools at his cluttered desk, like some underground chemistry class gone rogue. Delorah half-expected someone to yell "cut!" and a film crew to roll out from behind the curtains.

"Of course I have," she lied smoothly, eyes flicking to the thin plastic straw on the tray. "With an ex of mine."

Kit gave her a look—dry, amused. Like he knew she was bluffing and didn't care. Maybe because he was bluffing too, in his own way. "Well, just in case you need a refresher," he said. "Watch me. Then do what I do."

He picked up the straw with practiced ease, posture loose but deliberate. "It's going to feel like you've inhaled shards of glass," he added with a small chuckle. "Hence the nickname."

Delorah watched, eyes wide as he leaned in, pressed the straw to his nostril, and inhaled the left line in one fluid motion. His jaw clenched as he leaned back, blinking hard. A couple tears streaked down his face, sharp and sudden.

"Hurts like a bitch," he muttered, voice thick. "But I'm buzzing now. And it's amazing."

He passed the straw to her with a soft nudge, letting it bump against her fingertips.

Her fingers trembled. Delorah copied his motion—leaned down, inhaled sharply.

Pain tore up her sinuses like fire and metal. Her eyes watered instantly, and she shot to her feet, pressing her palm to her nose.

"Just breathe," Kit said gently. "It'll pass quick."

Her chest rose and fell. The burn ebbed, slowly replaced by a rising surge—energy thrumming through her limbs, heart hammering like a jackrabbit behind her ribs. A chemical taste bloomed in the back of her throat.

"This is crazy," she said at last, wiping under her eyes.

Kit leaned back in his stool, grin unfurling like smoke. "Yeah," he said. "And it's only the beginning."

The buzz didn't hit all at once. It slammed into her, like something surging up her spine and electrifying her skull. Delorah gasped—then laughed, too loud, pressing her hand to her chest.

"Oh my god," she said. "I feel like I could run through this house."

Kit snorted, already pacing by the edge of his bed, one hand pushing his curls back.

"You probably could," he said, too fast. "You've got that look like your brain just rebooted at full capacity."

She dropped down to the floor, unable to stay still but also unsure what to do. Her limbs were jittering, her thoughts moving too quickly to follow. "I can taste color."

"That's the stuff kicking in," Kit said, crouching beside her, eyes a little too wide, teeth flashing with a manic grin. "Welcome to the world of oversharpened edges and zero chill."

Delorah burst into laughter again, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Kit flopped beside her, but even then he couldn't stop moving. His foot bounced. His fingers tapped the floor in erratic rhythms. His voice dropped a little, not quieter—just more focused.

"This is why I like it," he said. "Because it makes everything feel like it matters. Like time isn't just slipping away."

Delorah turned her head toward him. "You think about that a lot?"

He didn't answer right away. His fingers had stopped tapping now, curled into the hem of his shirt.

"I think about how fake everything feels," he finally said. "This house, that school, my family's reputation. All these things I'm supposed to be. Adrian, Adrian, Adrian—" The name left his mouth like venom.

Delorah blinked, sobering a little. "Who's Adrian?" she asked softly, already knowing the answer.

He looked at her sideways. "No one."

But the way he said it made her ache.

Delorah sat up, energy spiking again. "I hate how they all pretend," she said, fast, her voice rising. "Like it's normal to go to these parties and smile for people who don't even see you. Like we're just—props in their little legacy machine."

Kit laughed, wild and delighted. "Yes! Exactly! You get it."

He sprang to his feet and held a hand out to her. She took it, pulled up too quickly, stumbling forward—and right into his chest.

They paused, breathless.

Kit looked down at her, his pupils blown wide, his grin slowly fading. "You're trouble, Delorah."

She smiled back, flushed and shaky. "You are too."

And just as something in the air began to crackle—just as he leaned closer, hands still holding hers—

CLUNK.

The front door. Heavy, distinct. Someone was home.

Kit tensed, grip tightening.

"What—"

"Shit. Sebastian."

He let go of her so fast she nearly stumbled backward. Kit moved to the door, cracked it open, listening.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Growing louder.

Delorah's stomach dropped. Something about the shift in Kit's posture said this wasn't just a sibling thing. This was worse.

Then a voice echoed through the hall—smooth, dry, and unbothered.

"Well, well. Didn't expect to find Adrian throwing a rave in his bedroom."

Kit's expression went blank. Then hard.

Delorah stayed still as Sebastian stepped into view, all preppy arrogance and perfectly unruffled button-downs. His eyes slid to her, then back to his brother, his smirk sharpening.

"She looks wired," he said. "First timer?"

Kit didn't answer.

"Don't worry, I won't tell Dad," Sebastian added, tone mocking. "Though I might ask him what our future CEO is doing getting blasted on a school night."

Kit's voice was low and dangerous. "What do you want."

Sebastian lifted a phone charger from the desk. "This. And to see how deep the freefall's gotten."

He glanced back at Delorah again.

"Guess we're spiraling with company now. Cute."

"Sebastian," Kit warned.

Sebastian didn't flinch. "Relax. I'll be gone in a second, Adrian."

Delorah saw Kit's hands clench at his sides.

"Just keep her away from the mirrors," Sebastian added, already stepping out the door. "Wouldn't want her to see who she's actually with."

And then the hall swallowed him.

The silence that followed felt scorched.

Kit didn't look at her. He turned away, standing in the center of the room like he was trying to remember who he'd been before his brother walked in.

Delorah crossed the space quietly and reached for his hand.

He hesitated—but didn't pull away.

The house was quiet again. Too quiet. Kit sat on the floor with his back against the bed, legs stretched long, and Delorah lay beside him, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning slowly, like it was mocking the rhythm in her pulse.

"Is it normal to feel like... my thoughts are sprinting but I'm standing still?" she asked, voice thin.

Kit gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment. "Yeah. That's the comedown flirting with you."

Delorah rolled her head to look at him. His curls had fallen over his eyes again, and his lashes were dark against the skin beneath. He looked exhausted and wired all at once, like a boy who never really got to rest. Not even here.

"Your brother's a dick," she muttered.

He snorted. "Yeah. He's the family favorite, though, so…"

"You okay?"

He didn't answer right away. Then he glanced at her, just briefly, and said, "I will be. Are you?"

She hesitated. "I think so. Still feels like I'm vibrating."

"You will for a while," he said. "You're not going home like this, by the way."

She blinked. "What?"

He looked at her seriously. "Your pupils are the size of dinner plates, and you've been grinding your teeth since we sat down. No way your parents don't clock that in two seconds."

Delorah stared at him, then burst into laughter again. "Jesus. You're right."

Kit smirked. "I'm always right."

"I'm crashing here?"

"You're buzzing here," he corrected.

"You'll crash later."

She laughed again, softer this time, and let her eyes drift closed for a moment. The spinning in her head had softened slightly—still electric, but less jagged. There was comfort in being with someone who wasn't pretending things were okay. Even if everything was on fire, at least he didn't lie about the smoke.

"…Thanks," she said after a beat.

"For what?"

"For not letting me walk out into the world like this. And for not making it weird."

Kit nudged her foot gently with his. "You're not weird. You're real. That's rare."

A quiet moment passed. The fan above them kept turning. The house, for all its size, felt small here—just the two of them in a pocket of rebellion that felt, for once, almost safe.

Delorah whispered, "So… who is Adrian?"

Kit didn't answer.

But he didn't let go of her hand, either.