Page 36 of Duty Unbound

Nova nodded vigorously. “This tour is everything. It’s my step up to the big leagues. Next year, it’ll be stadiums instead of theaters. We arenotcanceling.”

Ethan’s eyes met mine, and I could see him weighing my words. Behind his stern exterior, I could tell he was genuinely concerned for our safety. But I needed him to understand that canceling wasn’t an option unless things escalated dramatically.

“We can handle the increased security,” I assured him. “Whatever it takes. But the tour goes forward unless there’s absolutely no other choice.”

Logan and Jace exchanged glances. Ty looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

Finally, Ethan nodded. “We’ll manage it. The situation hasn’t escalated to the point where cancelation is necessary. But—” he fixed Nova with a hard stare “—that means following every protocol we set. No exceptions, noforgetting, no creative interpretations of the rules. And not another single word aboutvibes.”

“Fine, fine.” Nova waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever it takes. Can we be done now? I have a vocal warm-up session in ten minutes.”

Before Ethan could respond, she was up and moving toward the door, Dexter floating in her wake like a fashionable shadow. “Come on, Dex, these security lectures are killing my creative…aura.”

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving an awkward silence in their absence.

“Well,” Ty said with forced brightness, “that went better than expected.”

Logan snorted. “I had my money on her throwing something.”

“She saves that for day three,” I muttered.

Jace gathered his equipment, nodding to Ethan before slipping out. Logan and Ty followed, leaving just Ethan and me in the suddenly too-quiet room.

He studied me, head tilted slightly. “You were painting.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

His lips curved into the faintest suggestion of a smile. “That’s why you were late. You were painting.”

“How did you?—”

He reached out, his thumb brushing my cheek lightly. “Blue paint,” he explained, showing me the smudge on his thumb. “Right here.”

Heat crawled up my neck at the casual touch. “Oh. Yes, I…sometimes I paint. To relieve stress.”

“That explains the outfit too,” he noted, eyes taking in my jeans and T-shirt in a way that made me suddenly self-conscious.

“This is actually how I prefer to dress,” I admitted, plucking at the worn fabric of my shirt. “The business attire is Nova’s idea. She thinks a manager should look the part.”

Something flickered in his eyes—disapproval? Confusion? I couldn’t quite read it.

“Nova seems to have a lot of ideas about how you should present yourself,” he said carefully.

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the accuracy of his observation. “It’s just clothes. Not worth fighting about.”

He made a noncommittal sound, then reached into his pocket. “Speaking of Nova, I have something that might help with the constant texts.”

He held out his hand, palm up. A small flash drive rested there.

“What’s this?”

“An app Jace developed. May I?” He gestured to my phone, which I handed over hesitantly.

“It filters Nova’s messages,” he explained as he connected the drive and tapped through several screens. “When she starts anxiety-spiraling—like sending more than ten texts in a minute—the app will provide appropriate, encouraging responses based on your usual replies.”

I stared at him. “You wrote an app to answer my sister’s texts?”

“Jace did,” he corrected. “But yes. It’ll only notify you if Nova asks a legitimate question or something that requires your personal attention. Otherwise, it’ll keep her calm without you having to drop everything every five minutes.”