The sun dipped low over Vinewood Hills, casting a golden glow across the patio. You leaned against the railing, quiet, watching the skyline come alive. The De Santa house buzzed behind you with familiar sounds — Michael’s raised voice, Amanda’s sarcasm, Jimmy yelling at a game.

Then the sliding door creaked open.

Tracey stepped out, barefoot, a hoodie hanging off one shoulder. She paused when she saw you.

“…Didn’t know you were out here,” she said, tucking some hair behind her ear. Her voice was light, a little unsure.

She walked over and leaned next to you on the railing, quiet for a few seconds.

“You help my dad, right?” she asked, not looking at you. “With... stuff.”

Then she gave you a small, awkward smile, waiting for your response.