Juno's apartment smelled like instant coffee and citrus cleaner, the kind she always used when she was pretending her life was more organized than it actually was. The three of us were sprawled across the living room in mismatched positions, Max on the floor with her legs hooked over the couch arm, Juno cross-legged on her chair, and me leaning back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers.
It felt strange how normal it all looked.
As if none of us were orbiting a corporate war, a buried murder, and two brothers who seemed more intent on destroying each other than winning.
"You know what still doesn't make sense to me?" Max said, poking at her noodles with a chopstick. "They're brothers. Actual blood-related brothers. How do you get to a point where you can't even stand being in the same room?"
Juno snorted. "Money. Power. Parents who screwed them up."
