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Theo’s lips curve like sin. “See, nowthat’sforeplay.”

I turn away before I do something I’ll regret. Or enjoy too much.

Silas flanks me again, still seething. “I hate him.”

“Join the line.”

The back door slams open like judgment incarnate, and Riven stalks out of the house like the sins just got summoned and he volunteered to answerfirst. His gray eyes lock on the hot tub, now frothing like a possessed marshmallow demon, and then they snap to us. All three of us. Me. Silas. Theo.

And if murder had a favorite color, it would be the exact shade of Riven’s stare.

“What the fuck is this?”

Silas reacts on pure survival instinct. Which, for him, means lying. Fast. Loud.

“HE DID IT!” Silas yells, stabbing a finger at Theo like he’s reporting a crime he orchestrated but refuses to confess to. “Desire Boy over there wentfull soap opera villainand vandalized the sacred tub!”

I blink.

Theo snorts.

Silas doubles down.

“I tried to stop him. Heroically. I said, ‘Theo, no, the jets aren’t ready for this level of chaos,’ and he justlaughed, Riv. Helaughedand foamed anyway.”

Riven’s head snaps to Theo.

Theo, to his credit, or lack thereof, doesn’t even blink. He smiles slowly, lazy and rich with thatI-know-your-girl's-secretskind of arrogance.

“I was enjoying a peach,” he says. “They were committing bubble terrorism. I’m an innocent witness.”

“Peach-eating is not a defense,” Silas hisses.

“Neither is foaming the estate’s water supply like you’re prepping for the end times,” Theo counters mildly, licking juice off his thumb.

Riven steps forward, eyes narrowing, and I know that if I don’t intervene, there will be blood, foam, and maybe a mangled peach pit where Theo’s jaw used to be.

So I pivot fast.

“Silas is right,” I say, steadying my voice. “It was Theo.”

Theo’s head tilts. That smile doesn’t budge, but something sharper flickers underneath. A note of betrayal, low and quiet. Not enough to guilt me. Just enough to make mewonderwhat it would take to hurt him.

Riven’s jaw clenches.

“Of course it was him.”

“Exactly!” Silas leaps in like he’s been validated by the gods. “He’s been grinning like a Bond villain since he got here, and now thesacred tubis tainted! We might never cleanse the chaos,never, Riven!”

Riven doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. He just walks straight to Theo, eyes locked like he’s deciding which bone to start with. “You think this is funny?”

Theo shrugs, still acting like this is all some elaborate joke he’s already won.

“I think watching you all lose your collective minds over a few bubbles is...instructive.”

Riven growls.

And Silas, behind me, whisper-hisses, “Don’t punch him yet, I still need my dramatic exit line.”