Page 203 of Bad Prince

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This is different.

There’s no joy in it.

No fire either.

No spark.

It’s… clean.

Cold.

Like she carved out everything unnecessary and left only the part of her that wins.

My jaw tightens.

I know that look.

I’ve worn it.

After Harvard.

After Royal Oaks.

After anything that got too loud, too messy, too personal?—

Strip it down.

Lock in.

Feel nothing.

Perform everything.

I hate that I recognize it on her.

Kane steps up beside me, quiet as always.

He doesn’t look at me.

Just follows my line of sight.

“Yeah,” he mutters.

That’s all he says.

But I know what he means.

We did that.

Not intentionally.

Not maliciously.

But still.

I bounce the ball harder than I need to.

Shoot again.

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