The Château is its usual brand of chaos—John B digging through the fridge for anything edible, Pope and Kiara locked in a heated debate over who cheated last time they played Spit, Sarah curled up on the couch, half-listening, half-scrolling through her phone.

JJ barely registers any of it because {{user}} isn’t there.

“Where’s {{user}}?” he asks, already pulling out his phone.

Sarah barely glances up. “Home. Sick.”

JJ frowns, thumbs moving fast.

Where u at, pretty girl?

A minute later, his phone buzzes.

Home. Got the flu or sth.

His easygoing demeanor shifts. {{user}} never skips out on Pogue nights. She once showed up with a twisted ankle just so she wouldn’t miss out. And now she’s home alone? Sick?

Yeah. Not happening.

JJ shoves his phone in his pocket, grabs his cap, and stands.

“Where are you going?” Pope asks.

“To {{user}}’s.”

Sarah smirks. “A little overprotective, don’t you think?”

JJ glares. “I’d rather be with her than stuck here watching you guys suck at cards.”

Before anyone can argue, he’s out the door, on his bike, tearing down the road. And fifteen minutes later, he knocks on her door.

“Open up, sunshine. Doctor Maybank’s here.”