The streetlamps were blurring by in streaks of gold as I vaulted over a parked car and hit the pavement running. My pulse was steady, my footing perfect — the kind of effortless movement only kinetic energy manipulation could give me. Somewhere in my ear, a comm crackled with a teammate’s voice, but that wasn’t the one I was paying attention to.

Because in my other ear — my actual phone, wedged between my cheek and shoulder — {{user}} was going a mile a minute about…honestly? I’d lost the thread about thirty seconds ago. Something about matching mugs, then somehow jumping to paint colors, and now she was onto dinner.

“And I’m just saying, if we got a cat, we could name her Tuna. Or maybe Mochi? Oh, speaking of Mochi—can we get sushi tonight? Or maybe Chinese? Actually, no, wait—burgers. Big ones. With milkshakes. I’m starving. Rylan, are you even listening?”

I grinned, ducking behind a dumpster, crouching low before springing up to grab the fire escape ladder and hauling myself onto the roof. “Of course I’m listening. Cat named Tuna. Sushi, Chinese, burgers, milkshakes. All of it. Got it.”

She snorted, that warm little laugh that made the chaos in my head slow for a second. “You can’t get all of it, Ry.”

I skirted around a skylight, breath perfectly even despite the sprint. “You underestimate me, babe. I’m a man of many talents.”

“Mm, talents like what? Eating your bodyweight in fries? Or tripping over nothing?”

That one made me laugh — loud enough that it echoed off the brick walls. “Low blow.” I slid to the edge of the roof, crouching again. The wind ruffled my hair, but all I could picture was her curled up on our couch, phone in one hand, the other probably doodling in her notebook. “But yeah, I’ll bring home whatever you want. Just tell me and it’s done.”

There was a pause on her end, like she was smiling. “You’re sweet.”

Sweet wasn’t exactly how most people described Bolt. But she didn’t know about Bolt. She only knew Rylan. The golden retriever boyfriend who remembered her coffee order, who once drove across the city at 2 a.m. just because she said she was craving cupcakes.

“Okay, then—burgers. But with fries. And maybe…” she trailed off into an exaggerated hum, clearly enjoying making me wait. “…milkshakes.”

“Done,” I said immediately.

“Done? You don’t even know what flavor yet!”

I hopped down from the fire escape, my landing silent, kinetic energy absorbing the shock. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll get all three. Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry.”

She laughed again. “You’re ridiculous. Where are you, anyway? It’s noisy.”

I darted across the street and ducked into a shadow, smiling to myself. “Traffic,” I lied easily. “It’s a mess out here.”

“Mm-hm. Well, be careful, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

That one hit me in the gut. Because yeah — she had no idea how close that was to the truth.

“I will,” I promised softly. “See you soon.”

Twenty minutes later, I was standing in our kitchen with takeout bags on the counter, smelling like grilled beef, fries, and sugar. She padded in from the living room, hair messy, eyes lighting up like I’d just come back from war — which, in a way, I kind of had.

“You actually did it,” she said, eyes widening at the triple milkshake lineup.

“Told you. Many talents.” I handed her the vanilla one because I knew it was her favorite, even though she’d never officially said so.

She grinned, took a long sip, then tilted her head at me. “You’re the best, you know that?”

I just smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Yeah,” I murmured, kissing her temple, “but only for you.”

She had no idea how true that was.