Nothing greeted Valentina like laughter, arguing of her sisters, Maddie’s voice committing emotional crimes from across the room or Sierra sweetness softening the air, neither Patricia making some dry, elegant remark from a couch while pretending she was not deeply invested in everyone’s nonsense.

The entire place seemed strangely empty, the vast living room glowing beneath dim lights and the tv, the city and dark lake spread beyond the glass in a silent glittering panorama.

Everyone had scattered.

Emily and Lydia shared a room. Nastya and Victoria did too, and they had come back before Valentina, though whether they were here or still somewhere below was anyone’s guess.

Who knew what princesses did in their free time? Practice glacial expressions? Plot romantic ambushes? Adjust crowns that existed mostly in social pressure?

Delilah was probably in the main bedroom with Sierra, who had returned earlier as well. Maddie was still with Cassiopeia and Phei, bringing Mother with him. Melissa’s whereabouts were a mystery to everyone except Phei, because Melissa seemed to move through life like a beautiful, competent secret.

Elena and her mother were in the lower suites. Phei’s quiet cousin, Sienna, remained in the penthouse she had once shared with Victoria before Victoria decided Phei was her new soul and moved accordingly.

Amber, according to Phei, was still with her father and would be staying the night... Yuki too.

As for Catrina...

Valentina’s gaze drifted toward the room the girl occupied.

Then moved on.

Two new souls had joined the circle as well: Noor and Soraya. They were in the penthouse Sierra and Maddie had used two nights ago, which made sense, though Valentina still wondered why both women had said no to coming straight into the main penthouse when Phei told them they could.

’Are they shy? Overwhelmed? Trying to be polite?’ Or has the full madness of Phei’s household finally caught up to them and forced them to seek temporary shelter before being eaten by sisterhood?

’Probably shy.’

Valentina dismissed the thought with a small smile and walked farther into the living room.

That was when she saw Patricia.

The woman sat on the sofa before the massive television, one leg tucked neatly beneath her, a book open in her hand while the TV played some drama in crisp, cinematic colors. Her eyes moved between page and screen with terrifying seriousness, as if she were conducting an academic study on narrative betrayal and lighting design.

The scene should not have worked. It did. Patricia Bloom could make multitasking look like a form of judgment.

"You do not sleep, do you?" Valentina asked from behind her. "I have never seen anyone watch TV while seriously reading."

Patricia placed a finger between the pages, closed the book halfway, and turned over her shoulder with an expression of almost wounded dignity.

"Is that what I get for waiting for you, judgement?"

Valentina smiled.

"No," she said, lifting the gift box. "You get this."

Patricia’s eyes brightened at once.

The shift was immediate and shameless, which was deeply satisfying. She covered her mouth, then reached out quickly and snatched the box from Valentina’s hand with all the restraint of a rich spoiled girl pretending she had none of those traits.

Valentina sat down beside her. "Do not hold your breath. It is nothing special. Well, what special thing can one ever give a rich spoiled brat?"

Patricia went still.

Slowly, she turned her head.

Valentina met her eyes and realized, a fraction too late, that she had stepped directly into violence wearing a silk robe.

"A brat spoiled girl? I am a grown-up woman." Patricia repeated.

Valentina leaned back. "It was said affectionately."

Patricia pounced at Valentina.

"Patricia!"

The book went flying onto the couch. Patricia’s hands found Valentina’s sides with merciless precision, and the next second Valentina was laughing, twisting, trying to push her away while Patricia attacked her with tickles like a woman avenging a family insult.

They collapsed sideways on the sofa, both of them laughing too loudly for the empty penthouse, limbs tangling, hair coming loose, the expensive living room suddenly less like a palace and more like a girls’ dormitory where maturity had been taken outside and shot for lack of relevance.

"Take it back," Patricia demanded.

Valentina laughed harder, trying to catch her wrists. "We are mature women. We cannot be playing tickling games like little girls."

"Then take it back."

"You are a teacher."

"Take it back."

"A serious, elegant chemistry teacher."

"Valentina."

"A hardworking chemistry teacher who fucked her—"

"I dare you!" Patricia threatened, one hand raised with lethal tickling intent.

Valentina burst into laughter and surrendered at once. "Okay, okay, you win. You are not a spoiled rich girl. You are a hardworking chemistry teacher with extremely violent hands who loves her student so much, professionally of course."

Patricia narrowed her eyes. "Better."

"Barely true, but better."

"Do you want round two?"

"No," Valentina said quickly, then pulled Patricia into her arms before the woman could restart hostilities. "Come here, menace."

Patricia allowed herself to be hugged, though she made a small sound of victory into Valentina’s shoulder. The gift box had slipped to the far side of the sofa during the battle, but Valentina, with a lazy stretch that should have violated at least three anatomical rules, hooked it with her foot, lifted it smoothly and drew it back toward them.

Patricia paused then looked down at Valentina’s leg.

"What amount of training does that?"

Valentina took the box and placed it back into Patricia’s hands with a shrug. "Nothing special."

"Valentina, you just retrieved a box with your foot from across the sofa while hugging me."

"Flexibility training."

"That is not an answer. That is more like a threat."

Valentina smiled. "Open it."

Patricia looked down at the box, and for once her teasing softened. The lights from the television flickered across her face, catching the brightness in her eyes, the little curve of her mouth, the hidden tenderness she usually buried beneath wit and poise because apparently everyone in Phei’s circle had emotional defenses like fortified castles with decorative gardens.

"It is just something small," Valentina said, her voice lowering. "For my awaiting sister I never had."

Patricia’s expression changed.

The joke left her face first. Then the playfulness. What remained was quieter and far more delicate. She shifted toward Valentina, looked at her properly, and for a heartbeat neither woman spoke.

The penthouse seemed softer around them, the giant television murmuring nonsense to itself, the city glowing beyond the glass, the night pressing dark and distantly against the windows while inside, two women who had come from different worlds sat tangled on a sofa like sisters fate had been late in delivering.

Patricia leaned in and kissed Valentina’s forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Valentina swallowed, then smiled.

Patricia looked down at the gift, fingers resting lightly on the ribbon, and only then began to open it.