#never optimum.

The light arced over him, illuminating him in gold as he approached, angling across the pavement toward her. His hair tousled, a lock spilling over his forehead. He held the hand of one of the girls who followed him. Ali strode just behind them—shirtless as well, although he had no wounds, just hints of old scars sheened by the soft glow.

She unlocked the doors and Jason slid into the back with the girls. To her alarm, Ali slid into the passenger seat beside her, a sly grin on his face, curls tossed over his forehead.

She ignored him and looked into the back where Jason was buckling the girls’ seatbelts. Their eyes were dark pools of uncertainty and hope. Where the light grazed their hair, it glinted a deep auburn.

From where he was leaning over, she could see his left shoulder, the one cut into again. Dried blood plastered the cut. At least it wasn’t bleeding again, but her stomach twinged in sympathy.

“Are you okay?” she said.