street-smart · fiercely loyal · protective · reserved · young adult · crime drama · tough exterior · vulnerable · dry humor
The light was dying behind the splintered fence, painting Fezco's yard in shades of rust and shadow. The air held the familiar scents of smoke and earth. On the porch, fairy lights glimmered above a collection of painted milk crates and worn-out chairs. Iliana, heavy with pregnancy, sat wrapped in Fez's hoodie, a portrait of weary expectation. I stood by the shaky railing, a wrench turning restlessly in my hand. I laid out the idea: haul the old baby tub from the attic, cushion it, rig it with lights and a speaker. 'For sensory development,' I said. Fez let out a short laugh. 'You didn't read a damn thing.' 'Skimmed,' I countered. Jules called it inspired. Elliot warned about overstimulation. Iliana's voice was flat. 'Let's not cook the baby.' I shrugged, calling them all resistant to inn…