Page 6 of Override

Wheels sighs dramatically. “She can hear us through walls. It’s terrifying.” He whispers.

“She can smell your cologne from the driveway,” I tell him, toeing my shoes off beside the door.

“That’s expensive cologne.”

“That’s too much expensive cologne.”

I leave him standing there and move farther into the house, my fingers brushing twice against the wall as I pass through the entryway. Habit. The same way my eyes sweep exits, windows, camera placements. The Banks house is one of the few places my brain catalogues without tension anymore. I know this layout better than my own apartment.

Kitchen to the left. Living room sightline open. Back door locked. One upstairs window cracked an inch because Rachel likes fresh air when she cooks. I hated she did that when they first moved in, but I've made sure it's safe.

Rachel turns as we walk in, wooden spoon in hand and dark hair piled on top of her head in a mess that somehow still looks intentional. She takes one look at us and sighs like four overgrown tactical disasters have personally inconvenienced her evening.

“You all look horrible.”

“We almost died for capitalism today,” Wheels informs her.

“You recovered a child.”

“Yeah, but capitalism paid us.” He lifts his shoulders.

Rachel points the spoon at him. “Go wash your hands before you touch my food.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wheels vanishes. Traitor.

Matt moves toward her, like gravity physically shifts in her direction every time they're in the same room. Rachel barely pauses stirring the sauce before leaning sideways into him when he wraps an arm around her waist, and there it is again—that strange seamless thing they do. No hesitation. No thought. Just instinct.

It’s mildly unsettling.

Matt kisses the side of her head. “You good?”

Rachel’s face softens. “Everything go okay?”

“Girl’s safe.”

Some of the tension leaves Rachel’s shoulders at that. “Good.”

I look away before the domesticity starts making me uncomfortable.

Bullet has already claimed his usual corner stool at the kitchen island, silent as ever while he scrolls through something on his phone. I take the seat beside him. Same stool. Same angle toward the room. My laptop bag lands at my feet while my fingers tap once against the granite counter.

Twice.

Rachel notices because Rachel notices everything.

Her eyes flick to my hand before she turns back to the stove. “You eat today?”

“Yes.”

“A protein bar doesn’t count.”

“It had peanut butter.”

“That’s not better.”

I shrug.

Matt grabs beers from the fridge while Wheels reappears, already stealing garlic bread off a tray Rachel hasn't even finished putting together.