Y/n had been home for exactly four hours. Four hours of unpacking, dodging Topper's questions about university, and pretending she hadn't spent the last three months treating an anonymous black card like her own personal trust fund.

The Thornton house was quiet for once. Their parents were out at some charity thing, which meant it was just Y/n, Topper, and the heavy weight of a secret she didn't even know she was carrying.

He always was.

He looked the same as he had all summer—broad shoulders, dirty-blond hair a little too long, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. His polo was untucked, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and there was a silver watch glinting at his wrist. He shut the door behind him with a soft click, eyes finding Y/n before he even acknowledged Topper.