Page 5 of The Last Wish (Lost Legacy #1)

CHAPTER

FIVE

SHEENA

S ome sweet sixteen.

I shove at the wall of bitterness inside me, but it doesn’t budge. Will I always be alone? It’s not like I want much. I know I can’t have a house on the hill complete with two happy parents, a pair of siblings, and a spotted dog, but it would be nice to experience something like the other kids at school. A party, a present—shit, even a hug would be cool. A tear trickles out of the corner of my eye. It slides down my cheek, then falls, sinking into the scratchy polyester sheets. I roll over, burying my face in the lumpy twin mattress and slamming my fist into the bed. It was dumb to think things would change.

Another year gone. Another foster family making my life hell.

This was supposed to be my best year yet. School was going okay, and I had Quaid. He showed up in middle school—a stranger that somehow became my lifeline. We were going to become more this year because I was finally going to tell him how I felt. I never got the chance. Something changed for him. Now the walls are closing in, and I don’t even have my friend anymore.

Quaid has been giving me the cold shoulder for a few weeks. He’s always been moody, though, so I gave him space. I expected him to pull his head out of his ass today to wish me a happy birthday. No such luck. When I waved in the hallway, he turned his back on me like I was a contagious disease. It was so obvious a few girls nearby even giggled, and a tiny piece of my heart shattered on the chipped linoleum floor. Even now, the humiliation rushes back in, burning my cheeks. I lift my head from the mattress, sucking in some air.

“I wish things were different,” I whisper into the dark, hoping that fairy godmothers are real and something, or someone, will step in to rescue me. For a solid minute, I hold my breath and put all my hope in the fantasy.

As usual, I'm disappointed. Nothing changes. Except ... wait ... something seems different. I feel a breeze and hear a faint thud. My heart races. The heat was stifling earlier, so maybe I left the window open. Fighting the urge to close my eyes again and hide under the covers, I reach a shaky hand out towards the lamp on my bedside table.

My fingers never reach the switch. A bony hand clamps down on my wrist. Another one covers my mouth.

The instincts I’ve honed while living in a roster of shitty foster homes tells me I've only got one chance. I fight like hell. This life is crap, but it’s all I’ve got. If they get me out of this house, I’ll just become another statistic, a rumored runaway no one bothers to look for.

The hand over my mouth is too tight for me to scream, but that’s not the only way to make noise. So I thrash, kicking out with my legs and ramming the rickety headboard against the wall. The lamp smashes on the floor.

“Gods, get a hold of her.” The man's raspy voice makes me fight even harder against the disembodied hands pressing against me. His voice is somehow both oily and rough. I shudder at the sound. Faint light from the streetlight outside my window gives me a glimpse of a skull mask. I try to scream again, but only a small, muffled squeak escapes. Maybe I’ve done enough because someone’s stomping down the narrow hallway to my room. My foster mother’s shrill voice is music to my ears as she throws the door open without knocking, light flooding the room.

“Sheena, you slut, do you have some boy in here? Keep quiet, or you'll be sleeping in the—” Rebecca’s tirade cuts off abruptly when she sees two masked men dressed in all black holding me pinned to the bed. Her eyes go wide as she takes in the skull masks.

The man with his hand over my mouth glances at his partner and shrugs. “Might as well test her out now.” The other man grunts, lifts his head and locks his cold, yellow eyes with mine.

“I wish that woman would leave this room, erase your existence, and forget she ever had a foster child.” What the hell is he talking about? Rebecca is a piece of shit, but she’ll call the cops and—my body erupts with burning pain. Through the agony, I watch as she leaves the room without a word, her eyes vacant. Please, don’t go. I want to beg her for help, but I can’t.

The door closes with a final, familiar thud. I’m confused, terrified, and the burning won’t stop. I will my body to keep fighting, but it doesn’t listen. Lying limp on the mattress, my attackers high five over my body as I struggle to see through the spots dotting my vision.

“Ten years of hunting, and we've finally hit the jackpot.” Yellow eyes’ voice is the last thing I hear before another wave of pain drags me under.

I gasp, sitting up with a start on an unfamiliar bed. Even all these years later, dreaming of the night they took me still leaves me terrified. I shake my head, but I know from experience I won’t be able to dislodge the memories that easily. Sweaty strands of hair cling to the side of my neck. My breath escapes in frantic, irregular puffs as my hands tremble.

I can’t have a panic attack here. I go through my grounding checklist; a combination of trial and error and PTSD tips I found online at a public library a few years back. Assuring myself I’m not back in that room, I reach out for the duvet, feeling its softness under my fingertips. This material is cool and light, nothing like the cheap bedding I grew up with. I grip it tightly.

Inhaling deeply, I smell the coconut shampoo I used before bed. It mixes with the salty tang of my sweat, but it’s different enough from the past that my breathing slows. Then I wiggle my toes one by one and list as many animated movies as I can think of. The longer I list them, the more I’m able to claw myself back to a place of calm.

Once I've pushed the panic attack back, I time my breaths—inhaling for five seconds, holding for five more, then blowing out the air for a final five. By the time I’m done, I’m exhausted. I sink back into the pillows, trembling both from the nightmare and the decisions I need to make.

My rules tell me I should cut my losses and run.

There’s just one problem: I don’t want to.

Today was nice. Fun, even. Riding ATVs through the mountains with Gideon and Callum made me feel fifteen again. Back then, I was the kind of girl who dared to dream of a better life and a love that could conquer anything. That girl was naive. She died the night she turned sixteen. I’d be better off if I left her and her hopeful fantasies buried in the past.

As always, the nightmare was horrible. But it was also an important reminder. I’m being hunted. I can’t forget that, no matter how drawn I am to these guys.

That’s another problem... I see how they look at me. If I’m not careful, I could come between them. A shiver runs through my body. From Gideon's messy, blonde curls and constant touches to Callum's dark gaze and brooding intensity, I’m completely sucked in. I want them in a way that’s both unfamiliar to me and threatening as hell to my survival.

I've literally never had a positive sexual experience, so I'm not sure why my dormant libido is kicking into gear now. Seriously, a few of the fantasies I had today would make the erotica section of a used bookstore blush. I’d do well to remember that their loyalty is to each other. Any tug of war would end with me as the ultimate loser.

Even if I’m the only person I can count on, being lonely is better than being dead. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I stopped crying over boys the day I turned sixteen, right around the time I learned that if I want to be safe, I have to save myself.

GIDEON

I lay on my back , listening to her toss and turn through the wall. Racing breaths, gasps, and the occasional whimper. Sheena has nightmares. Fucked up ones from the sound of it. Each sound makes it harder for me not to kick off my covers and kick down her door.

But how the hell can I help without scaring her more? I have no business kicking down any doors, much less hers. That room needs to be her safe space. I won’t take that away. I can’t—even if every tooth in my mouth grinds to dust from the effort it takes me to stay in my own bed.

She cries out again. The bond rips and tears at my heart until I feel like it might actually yank the organ out of my chest. Claws replace my fingernails and leave little punctures in the bedding as I fight with everything I’ve got to resist the pull to go to her. I’m holding on for now, but there’s nothing left over to control my animal side. I can replace the damn covers, but if my mate leaves, something tells me I’ll have lost a piece of myself I’ll never be able to get back.

I can’t fucking fight her dreams for her, but the people who hurt her... They’re going to pay.

I'll gut them like that coyote, toss their bodies in shallow graves, and lay their hearts at her feet so she can stomp on them.

That crazed thought breaks through my bloodlust, and I shake my head to clear it. Why the hell would she want a bloody, disgusting heart? I’m really losing it.

My senses are all over the place, and I’m wondering if I can even trust them at this point. I didn’t want to tell Callum in front of Sheena, but while I was shifted as a puppy earlier, I thought I smelled wolf. My nose wasn’t at its best in that form, but I could have sworn—no, it’s impossible, especially in my territory. It’s got to be my nervous system going haywire over the mate bond.

Stick to the plan, Gideon.

No scaring her, no pushing for details, no growling, and absolutely no literal bloody gifts. I’m starting to like her, and I don’t think it’s just the magical pull or my instincts to protect. No, under all the fear, there’s someone sweet and maybe just a little wild. We got glimpses of that Sheena today, but if I ever want to earn her trust, I need to be someone new, someone better.

My claws retract, and my mind drifts to my second problem: Callum.

He wants her too. It's obvious, even if he’s trying to hide it from me. Sure, maybe it will wear off for him, but can I deal if it doesn’t? I picture Sheena in my mind, wavy brown hair hanging down her back, a dusting of freckles across her nose, and gentle curves I’m fucking desperate to map with my hands.

Then, I imagine Callum. Dark, dangerous, and dragging the weight of the world’s judgment behind him everywhere he goes. I see his arms—lean muscles covered in the tattoos he got to piss off his dad—reaching out to wrap around her, his fingers rubbing all the places I just know will make her moan his name.

My eyes snap open.

I’m not jealous; I’m hard as a fucking rock. It’s just a dirty daydream, but could I share her with him in real life? The woman the gods created just for me. If the legends are true, Sheena is the person who literally completes my very soul. Sharing her shouldn’t work, so why can’t I stop imagining it? Sheena trapped between us, writhing in pleasure and screaming our names. Sheena begging us both for more, her green eyes blown wide with lust as we fuck her in tandem.

Gods fucking dammit.

The urge to slip my hand down into my boxers is nearly impossible to resist. I'm about to give into it—even though I know it’s a total creep move and Callum will know what's happening—when a sob comes through the wall. My erection fades away to nothing.

She’s afraid. Sheena, the woman I’m getting to know and obsessing over, is scared. What’s left of my lust disappears so fast I can barely believe it was there to begin with. New plan. I’ll keep working on my weaknesses, but I also need to play to my strengths, which don’t include dwelling, brooding, or overthinking shit.

First, I’ll find the source of her fear and kill it. Second, I’ll convince her I’m part of her future. If Callum is also part of it, we’ll figure that out when we get there. Hell, if it means someone I trust helps me protect her and rails her into happily ever after by my side, that’s a win-win, right?

We can do this.

I stay awake until her breathing levels off and the tossing and turning stops. Once I'm sure she's left the nightmares behind, I’m finally able to drop my guard enough to sleep.

Like we’re stuck in a time loop, I find Sheena fiddling with the coffee maker again when I come in from my morning run. I look her over, but I try not to be obvious about it. One look shows me the nightmare carved deep, purple half moons beneath her eyes. The emerald green color of her eyes is duller somehow; the sparkle I noticed in the mountains long gone.

I want to put it back.

“How did you sleep?” I ask. The answer is obvious, but just because I’ve decided to be patient doesn’t mean I can’t push a little.

“The bed is very comfortable,” she says, neatly dodging the question and tossing a fake smile in my direction. “Would you like some coffee?”

I grunt, ignoring the need to call her on her bullshit.

Sheena passes me a mug, and I take a sip, surprised to find it's exactly how I like it—sugar and creamer with some coffee on the side. I raise an eyebrow at her, and a blush floods her cheeks.

“I’ve worked at a lot of hole-in-the-wall diners. Remembering a coffee order is basically my top skill.” She taps her temple and avoids direct eye contact while wiping down the counter. I’m not even sure where she got that dishrag. I’ve never seen it before in my life.

“You don't have to do chores, Sheena.” I fight to keep the frown off my face. “You're our guest here, but this is your home for as long as you want.”

Green flames spark to life in her eyes, and she’s clearly opening her mouth to argue when Callum appears out of the shadows. She jumps, and I glare at him for startling her. He just rolls his eyes at me and makes his way to her side.

“Time to check those scrapes,” Callum says.

She squints at the first aid kit in his hand and looks like she's winding up to argue again. I go with my gut. Before she can say whatever she's thinking, I lift her up on the counter and smack a kiss to her cheek.

“Let him check you over, Sheena. You won't win an argument with a demon.” I kiss her other cheek and wink at her as she sputters. “Plus, coyotes are gross. You don't want an infection, do you?”

Blood rushes to her face, and I want to cheer as she grumbles something under her breath about how we’re working her up on purpose. I duck my head into the fridge so she won’t notice my smile, then I pretend to rummage around for food while watching her through the crack in the door.

Callum ignores Sheena’s outrage completely, calmly wedging himself into the space between her legs and reaching for her shirt with a raised eyebrow. She huffs, lifting the fabric herself so he can get a look at her side. The bruises have changed to a sickly yellow already, confirming that she's definitely healing faster than a human would, but not as fast as a shifter or demon. Nothing new there. We already knew she wasn't human or like us.

Callum removes the gauze next, revealing the raw, angry scratches. I frown. Based on the bruises, I expected the healing to be further along. I look to Callum, but he doesn’t comment or acknowledge my concern. Fucker.

Nope, he just sprays antiseptic on the scrapes and blows soothingly on the area. Goose bumps spread across Sheena’s skin, and her breathing speeds up.

That’s when I realize I'm still staring through the crack in the refrigerator door. They can’t see me, but— oh shit— by the time I realize my mistake, it’s already too late. The damn thing beeps at top volume, complaining loudly about how long I’ve been holding it open. I slam the door with way more force than necessary, bottles rattling as the beeping mercifully stops.

Now I’m standing here empty-handed and red in the face as they both stare.

“Can't find what you're looking for?” Sheena asks, laughter coating her voice. My embarrassment melts. I don't even care that she’s laughing at me; I want to hear more of the sound. Wrenching the refrigerator door back open, I pull a carton of eggs out of the bottom shelf.

“Couldn't decide if I wanted an omelet or just toast this morning,” I lie, plotting my revenge against the snitch-ass appliance. They both accept my explanation without comment, but I know Cal is going to give me shit for it later.

He tells Sheena she doesn't need a bandage anymore as long as she avoids reopening the scrapes. She thanks him, then hops down from the counter and walks over to me. We stand in comfortable silence, chopping veggies side by side. It's peaceful, domestic, and so chill that I barely notice the pull in my chest demanding I rush in and claim her.

Cal’s phone goes off while we’re eating. Sheena jumps, but we all pretend not to notice. Callum looks at the screen and sighs. He answers the call without getting up. The fingers of his free hand start to drum anxiously against the table as I shovel a bit of omelet into my mouth. Seeing his tell almost makes me groan. There’s no way I can make it through even a secondhand Dimitri lecture without getting indigestion.

I’m about to glare at Callum for choosing to do this here until I realize he’s making a deliberate point by not leaving to hide the call. He’s proving to Sheena that she can trust us by showing her he trusts her. It’s smart.

Knowing it’s the right move doesn’t help my frustration, though. This whole interrogation is bullshit, and Cal is a saint for even answering the phone.

We’ve already followed protocol and submitted a written report on the Wyoming lead. Obviously, we left Sheena out of it, but it’s not like our fathers have any way of knowing that. No, this is standard Dimitri bullying. Callum’s father never misses a chance to browbeat his oldest son. With no arrests and no immediate leads on the traffickers, he’s determined to blame him. This call is just his way of getting a few hits in disguised as ‘hands-on leadership.’

Sheena holds herself completely still as she listens, only relaxing slightly once Callum explains how the bar was a dead end without mentioning her. When he’s finished, Dimitri kicks off the lecture. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but the tone comes through loud and clear. Fucking prick. By the time he’s satisfied, Callum’s jaw is clenched so tightly I worry he’s going to chip a tooth.

“Understood. We'll check it out.” Callum ends the call.

Heartburn grips my chest. “What the fuck does he want now?”

“There’s another lead.” Callum stares at his plate without blinking. “Near Boulder this time.”

Callum may sound calm, but I know better. He’s spiraling, and not just from talking to his dad. We can’t take Sheena on a mission to some shady supernatural corner of our territory. We’re going to have to leave her here, alone in the house with no protection but plenty of time to convince herself to take off again.

I risk a glance her way, but her poker face is damn good.

“Okay, what's our move?” I focus back on Callum, pretending like there’s nothing off. He sighs, fiddling with the phone.

“Some low-level shifters are missing.” He darts a look at Sheena, worry digging harsh lines in his face. “At first, it was women on their own, but then the pattern changed.” He hesitates, then focuses back on me as he continues.

“They took a wolf from the local pack. It’s hard to say whether they got sloppy or overconfident, but they made a mistake. She’s well connected. The only reason we know about the other disappearances at all is because the alpha heard about them while tearing the town apart looking for his niece.”

I let out a low whistle. You don’t snatch an alpha’s niece unless you have a death wish, especially if you’re trying to fly under the radar. While every species is a little different, women are almost universally protected within shifter hierarchies.

This is a mess. I don’t bother hiding my concern when I turn my focus back to Sheena. Her face is still slack, but I’m not fooled, not when I can hear her heart beating out of her chest. I don’t think she even realizes she's shredding her napkin into tiny pieces. My heartburn flares back to life. I desperately need to burp, but now doesn’t feel like the time.

Callum drops his phone on the table with a clatter and takes Sheena’s hands in his, stopping the napkin massacre.

“We won't be gone long,” Callum whispers. “We'll show you how to work the security system and leave you with a gun.” There’s no sign she’s even hearing him, but he doesn’t stop. “This place is off the grid. No one has any reason to believe you're here.”

That does it.

Her head snaps up, pupils blown wide as the black consumes the vivid green. I can practically taste her fear. I get why she may be uncomfortable, but this degree of terror seems a little extreme. Still, I’m opening my mouth to tell her we won't go—that we won’t leave her alone for even a second—when Callum takes hold of her chair. He yanks it towards him. The wooden legs screech against the tile in a horrible way before the sound cuts off abruptly.

“You're tough and smart. You don't need help from me or Gideon, but it’s yours if you want it.” Callum cradles Sheena’s face in his hands. His thumb grazes her bottom lip, and only then do I notice how they’re both trembling.

“Sheena,” he whispers. “It’s your choice.” His conviction makes each word sound like a promise.

Fuck, this is make or break.

I sit helplessly, taking the tension in my body out on the fork in my hand. It bends in half while we both wait for her answer.

Sheena stares into Callum's dark eyes, clearly searching for something. He holds the eye contact. Neither of them so much as blink as she reads him. When she finally finds whatever she’s looking for and clears her throat, I hide the mangled fork under the table.

“I was taken,” she whispers, her voice haunted. “I still don’t know who they were or how they found me. One night, I was in my twin bed crying over a boy. The next, I was in a cage.” She trails off, sucking in an uneven breath.

I wait for rage to overpower me, but it doesn’t. The anger is still there simmering deep in my gut, but my overwhelming instinct right now is to comfort the woman in front of me. I’m clearly not the only one feeling that way because Callum pulls her carefully onto his lap.

I take her now vacant seat and lay a tentative hand on her back. She doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in her past to focus on either of us.

“These people you're looking for—they sound a lot like the group that hunts me,” Sheena says. I stiffen at that; the need to hunt them down and rip out their spines builds inside of me.

“No matter where I hide, they always catch up.” Her breath hitches. “I don't want to bring any trouble down on you, so I’ll head out today. It may take time, but they will find me. They always do.”

Her focus returns to us. She tries to climb out of Callum's lap, but he's not having it and neither am I. He shoots me a warning look over her shoulder, but it’s too late.

“You're not leaving,” I snarl at her. “We'll track them down and gut them like the cowardly monsters they are.” I’m roaring now, too consumed with rage over what happened to her to control myself. “You don’t need to go anywhere.”

Callum clears his throat.

“What Gideon means to say is, our job is to protect supernaturals in this territory, Sheena. We would never toss you out to avoid trouble.”

She must hear him, but she doesn’t react to his declaration. Instead, she turns in his lap to study me. Sheena’s face is blank and impossible for me to read. Panic stings my skin. Any second now, she will run screaming from this kitchen, and it will be all my fault. Even knowing this, I can't stop the feral rumblings escaping my mouth. Maybe I can beg forgiveness. Maybe I can?—

“Okay. I'll stay,” Sheena says.

Wait. She can’t possibly mean that. Right?

Sheena erases the distance between us, gently cupping my jaw in her hand. It’s the first time she’s touched me deliberately in my human form. I’ll remember it until the day I die.

“As long as you're both fine with it, I'll stay,” she repeats, glancing over her shoulder at Callum.

He’s watching me closely, like he's preparing to snatch her out of my reach if I lose control again. Callum is familiar with my temper, but I could never hurt Sheena. I felt the truth of that deep in my bones the second she touched my face. Still, I give him a nod, and some of the tightness in his expression disappears.

“Of course. I meant what I said earlier—you can belong here if you want to,” he tells her. “But, given what you've just shared, I think we should talk more if you're up for it.”

Godsdammit, Callum.

The tension comes back, ratcheted up to about a million now, and I can't stand it any longer. Scooping her out of his lap, I ignore her surprised squeak, and carry her towards the living room.

“Gideon!” Callum’s voice is exasperated, but I don’t stop.

“If we're going to have super intense story time, followed by super boring strategy time, then we're at least going to be comfortable,” I yell back at him, sinking down into the deep leather couch cushions and dropping Sheena beside me.

I’d rather have her in my lap, but I can tell she needs to feel some kind of control over her space right now. So I drag a warm, fuzzy blanket off the arm of the couch, cover us both, and hold the edge up, gesturing impatiently to Callum as he trails after us. He purses his lips, but sits down beside Sheena like I knew he would, sliding under the blanket without complaint. Once she's nestled safely between us, I finally feel like I can breathe again.

Thank the gods she’s too distracted to notice me fussing.

“What do you want to know?”

Sheena gets right to the point, but her voice sounds tired, like the thought of digging all this back up is exhausting. I hate that she has to relive it, but Callum is right to push. If this group is the same one that took her, it's even more important that we track them down fast.

“Whatever you're comfortable sharing,” Callum says. “Focus on anything that could help us figure out if it's the same group.” Sheena nods once, staring at her hands while she plays with a tassel on the end of the blanket.

“They always wore masks. Halloween, skulls, and monster stuff.” She frowns slightly. “They abducted me and held me hostage in Virginia. That’s where I escaped from, at least, so I guess it's far-fetched to think it could be the same group. But in the years since my escape, I've felt them coming for me.”

She’s defensive. Almost like she expects us to call her paranoid, but I nod instead.

“I saw one of them back in Texas a few years back,” she admits. “I ignored the warning feeling. It was stupid, but I had a pretty decent setup going. He got so close... When I noticed, he was watching me like it was a game.” She shudders and wraps her arms around herself. “I use that memory to remind myself about what can happen when I ignore my gut.”

When she reaches for the blanket’s tassel again, I grab her hand in mine.

“You were right to listen to that feeling,” I say, leaning into the need to reassure her. “In this world, your instincts and intuitions are just as important as sight or smell. They will keep you alive when nothing else will.”

Her fingers tighten around mine, a silent thank you.

“Before I got away, they kept me carefully guarded but mostly unhurt. Because of... why they wanted me... I was really weak.” She hurries on, but I don’t miss her pause. “I only got away because they were planning something big and wanted me strong.”

She takes a deep, shaky breath, but neither of us pushes her to elaborate. I draw shapes on the back of her hand with my thumb instead, trying to help her relax.

“I stopped fighting back after a while, so they only had one guard watching me. The night I escaped, I pretended to be asleep.” Her bottom lip trembles, but her green eyes are blazing. I can’t look away from her. “I waited until he turned around, and then I jumped on his back and wrapped the chain around his throat. It took so long,” she whispers. “Longer than I expected. I thought I might pass out before he did. When he finally fell, I ran, and I haven't looked back.”

When she stops talking this time, the bones in my hand are fucking throbbing. When I realize the pressure is coming from her and not me, I squeeze back gently. She can break every bone in my hand if it helps her forget.

“I don't know what I am,” her voice has a brittle edge now. “But I promised myself that night I would tell no one what I can do. I understand if that’s a deal breaker. I’m sorry to keep it from you two, but I just can't put myself at risk again.”

Her last words are defiant, and it’s sexy as hell. Instead of telling her I think her stubborn streak is hot, I stay quiet and listen as Callum takes over. He tells her she doesn't have to share any more details about herself, that she was brave and smart.

Callum has a way with words, and I feel the tension draining from Sheena’s body as he reassures her. Once she's boneless on the couch, he asks her some simple follow-up questions. She's able to add some vague details about height, weight, accents, and tattoos, but when he asks about abilities, she hesitates.

“I never saw anyone... change or anything, but they didn't feel human,” she says. Callum accepts that with a nod.

Not hunters then. Part of me is relieved to hear that psycho cult isn’t involved. Instead, it sounds exactly like the trafficking group we're chasing now—a supernatural gang betraying their own community for profit. It's fucked.

When Callum asks if anyone else was held hostage with her, Sheena’s tension returns tenfold along with a healthy serving of the earlier defiance. She says she didn’t see anyone else. Although, she believes there may have been others based on sounds she overheard. Callum doesn’t press on the obvious sore spot, but the conversation is still grueling.

Eventually, he stops asking questions and flips the TV to some mindless comedy. We pretend to watch it, but no one is invested. Within minutes, Sheena drifts off to sleep cuddled into my side, the laugh track playing in the background.