Page 161 of In Somnis

“Deeply,” I sigh.

“She loves it.” Jasper shrugs, completely unbothered. “I was just telling her how well your cards align.”

Nevan stops walking and looks at his brother with the expression of someone who has been subjected to this before and has developed a policy about it. “There is something wrong with you.”

“There’s something wrong with both of you,” I mutter.

“But you love it,” Jasper shoots back.

“I might love it.”

Jasper’s grin goes wide again, then he points at me, then Nevan, then back at me. “See?”

“I see someone who should be in bed.” Nevan points at the door. “School night. Go home.”

“Fine. But for the record⁠—”

“Goodnight, Jasper,” we both say at the same time.

Jasper’s smile turns deeply satisfied, then he opens his mouth.

“Don’t.” Nevan points a finger at him.

Jasper closes his mouth, then presses his lips together, visibly containing himself with enormous effort. Then he comes around the counter and wraps both arms around me without warning. I hug him back, and my throat goes tight, because Jasper gives hugs like he does everything—completely and without reservation—and I am tired and sad. I wasn’t going to let it mean anything, but apparently, it does.

“Night,” I tell him into his shoulder.

“Night, Lenny,” he says, and squeezes once before letting go, then he’s gone, door swinging behind him, and the kitchen is quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator.

Nevan is leaning against the counter with his arms still crossed, watching me with that quality of attention he has, and I go back to cleaning things that are already clean.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You promise?”

I look up at him. “Why do you keep asking?”

“Because… and yes, on the danger of sounding like Jasper, your sunshine is dimmed.”

“You can read auras now?”

“No.” The corner of his mouth lifts, but his eyes stay steady on me. “But I know your baseline.”

And that, annoyingly, gets me right in the chest.

I look back down at the counter. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me too.”

Something besides the obvious.

He steps forward, and his thumb finds the bridge of my nose—that gentle press he does when I’m scrunching it, smoothing it out before I’ve even noticed I was doing it.

“I love whatever is wrong with you. But I’m also mad at you.”

That makes me look up at him. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t call me after your date. And you’ve said maybe ten words to me today.”