Chapter 3 - Close Calls and Collateral Damage"Noah?" I yelled, my voice cracking an octave higher than normal as I dove backward, kicking a roll of framing tape across the floor to create a physical barrier between Lily and me.
Noah rounded the corner, looking exhausted, carrying a damp duffel bag over his shoulder. He stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the scene: the art supplies scattered everywhere, Lily standing innocently by her canvas with a golden paintbrush in hand, and me looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck.
"Whoa, what is going on here?" Noah asked, narrowing his eyes. "Why does it smell like an art store mixed with pure panic?"
"Lily’s gallery setup," I stammered, grabbing the nearest clipboard and pretending to study a nonexistent script. "We were, uh, reviewing layout logistics. Efficiency! You know how it is."
Noah raised an eyebrow, looking between his little sister and me. "Right. Logistics. With gold leaf on your fingers, Lil?"
Lily smoothly wiped her hand on her jeans, flashing her most disarming, innocent smile—the exact smile that had weaponized my sanity since 2018. "Ethan was just giving me some creative feedback, Noah. Honestly, you should thank him. He’s been a stellar host."
"Yeah? Well, your place is officially habitable again," Noah announced, tossing his duffel onto the couch. "The plumber fixed the main line, though the drywall in the bathroom looks like Swiss cheese. But you can move back home tonight, Lil. No need to crowd Ethan anymore."
A cold drop of dread hit my stomach. Move back tonight.
Before I could process the sudden, hollow feeling in my chest, Lily spoke up, her voice unnaturally sweet. "Oh. Well, actually, Noah... the gallery pieces are still drying, and Ethan’s lighting is optimized for final touch-ups. Plus, my room smells like industrial sealant and damp drywall. I told Ethan I’d stay through the weekend to finish up."
Noah looked at me, waiting for my input. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to agree with Noah, to pack her boxes, to restore the sacred barrier of the "brother's best friend" code.
Instead, I heard myself say, "She can stay. It’s no trouble. The futon is... being repaired."
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Noah grinned, clapping me on the back with enough force to rattle my teeth. "Man, you are a saint. I owe you big time. Hey, let’s all grab dinner tonight to celebrate the plumbing revival. My treat."
As Noah walked toward the kitchen to check the fridge, Lily caught my eye over his shoulder. She bit her lower lip, a triumphant, wicked spark in her eyes, and mouthed two words: Trapped again.
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