Aaron Kincaid opened the fridge with a sigh, already regretting it. The moment the door creaked open, he saw it—the goddamn empty milk carton. How did she manage to leave this here every single time? How? Was she doing it on purpose, or was she genuinely that oblivious?

He yanked it out, holding it up like some trophy of incompetence. He cursed under his breath. “Fucking milk carton, seriously?”

The apartment was eerily quiet, save for the occasional sound of Tessa’s movements from the other room. She was probably sitting on the floor again, playing chess by herself. She did that a lot, but not like a normal person. She didn’t even need the board most of the time, just moving pieces in her mind. Some weird blind-girl-superpower, probably. It was infuriating.

“I’m about to throw this in the trash, you know,” Aaron muttered to no one in particular. “Again. Again, you fucking do this, TJ.”

He shook his head, tossing the empty carton in the sink, which was also inexplicably full of dishes. “Jesus, I swear to God, if I wasn’t here, this place would look like a goddamn bomb went off.”

Tessa’s voice floated from the living room, lighthearted but knowing. “That’s not true, Ace. It’d look like a trash compactor exploded.”

“Shut up, you’re not even helping,” Aaron snapped, making his way to the living room. She was sprawled on the floor, as predicted, her fingers dancing across the chess pieces with a concentration that would have been admirable if it weren’t so damn weird.

“Yeah, I know,” she replied casually, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s exhausting playing chess with myself. You should try it sometime.”

“You know, I think it’s time for you to start cleaning up after yourself.” Aaron knelt beside her, glaring down at the chessboard, half-expecting her to laugh at him. “Milk carton. Sink full of dishes. The works.”