I open the door later that evening after a knock and find Steven standing on the other side. He’s dressed to exercise, in sweatpants and a moisture-wicking t-shirt. He carries a drawstring bag over his shoulder, presumably with a change of clothes inside.
His expression seems unsure. He’s frowning and there’s a question in his eyes. “Are you sure you want me? Archer would be a million times better at this.”
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