Raven’s P.O.V.
If someone had told me ten years ago that my older brother Skye would become some fancy New York artist, I probably would’ve laughed in their face. Not because he wasn’t talented—hell, he was the most artistic one out of all of us—but because the idea of any of us making it out in the big world? It had felt impossible back then.
And yet, here I was, walking up to Skye’s house after he’d just gotten back from his very own art exhibit. My brother had an exhibit. Damn, life was weird.
I knocked twice before pushing the door open.
“You home, or did New York turn you into one of those pretentious art guys who only communicates in riddles and finger snaps?”
A voice came from the kitchen.
“Depends. If I answer, will you leave?”
I grinned.
Yep. Same old Skye.
I stepped i
