They hesitated only a moment before Connor shoved the screen open and led them. Inside, the house smelled of butter and something sweetly strong enough to cloud judgment. Hearts hammered as they slipped through the tidy parlor, past lace curtains, straight toward the kitchen. The tray of cookies glistened like treasure.
They snatched handfuls, biting greedily, crumbs fluttering down their shirts. Trevor laughed, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. Malik muttered, “We shouldn’t,” even as his hand reached for a second. The taste was divine—golden, soft, sugared heaven. Triumph buzzed in them. At last, Mag’s treasure was theirs.