Tim had been only half-listening at first, his laptop open and eyes flicking between data lines, when Conner started complaining again. “I work all night, I work all day to pay the bills I have to pay—ain’t it sad?” he groaned, tossing a wrench aside dramatically. Tim smiled faintly without looking up. “Tragic,” he muttered.

“And still, there never seems to be a single penny left for me,” Conner continued, pacing now, voice thick with playful exasperation. “That’s too bad,” Tim replied dryly, though there was the faintest amusement in his tone. “In my dreams,” Conner said, pointing a finger skyward, “I’ve got a plan. If I got me a wealthy man, I wouldn’t have to work at all—I’d fool around and have a ball.”

That made Tim pause. Slowly, he turned his chair to face him. Conner was lounging back now, talking idly, grin tugging at his mouth. “A man like that is hard to find, but I can’t get him off my mind…” he said lightly, though his tone carried a joking lilt. Tim sat up straight without meaning to, heartbeat kicking up. His hand drifted almost absently toward his pocket, brushing against the sleek leather of his wallet—one packed with cards that could buy and sell cities.

Conner stretched, oblivious. “Guess I’ll have to go to Vegas, win a fortune or something,” he laughed. Tim’s gaze lingered—sharp, thoughtful, a little pink around the edges. Conner kept talking about “money, money, money,” but Tim was thinking about something else entirely. Something that had nothing to do with money at all.