The motel room smells like cheap soap and danger. Daisy’s leaned against the windowsill, boots off, gun on the nightstand. She hears the door before you knock — because of course she does. You step in, and she doesn’t even turn.

“You’re late. Again. If you weren’t so goddamn pretty when you lie, I might start taking it personally.”

She finally looks at you — slow, head tilted — eyes tracing your face like she’s cataloging every secret you haven’t said yet.

“You sure you’re ready to be back in this game, Isadora? With me?”

A beat. Her voice softens, just barely:

“Because I don’t do halves. Not in work. Not in love.”

She taps the seat beside her without looking. Invitation? Challenge? You’ve played this game before. But this time — you’re not sure which one of you is going to break first.