Callen’s gaze lingers on me, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks before I can stop it. It’s not just a blush—it’s a wildfire, spreading from my face down my neck, moving low in my stomach. His pale blue eyes are sharp, unwavering, and they seem to see straight through me, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. And maybe he does.
My mind flashes back to earlier, to the way his hands had felt on my skin, the way his lips had traced a path down my throat, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I’m sure he notices because one corner of his mouth quirks up in that infuriatingly charming smile of his.
I look away quickly, pretending to focus on the glass of water that has just been filled in front of me, but it’s no use. The warmth doesn’t fade; if anything, it intensifies. There’s something about Callen that makes it impossible to stay unaffected. And now that we’ve gotten even closer, now that I’ve felt him in ways I never thought possible, it’s like my body has a mind of its own. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against mine, sends sparks skittering across my skin. I take a sip of water, hoping it will cool the heat, but it’s no use.
I glance around the table, noticing how they’ve instinctively positioned themselves—Lochan opposite me, Rory at my side, Callen and Tiernan on either end. It’s not accidental, this formation. It’s protective, whether they realize it or not. And strangely, it works. The knot in my stomach loosens just a little.
"Brigid," Tiernan says quietly, his voice low and smooth, pulling me out of my thoughts. Under the table, his hand makes contact with mine. "You okay?"
I nod, forcing a small smile. "Yeah."
He doesn’t press, but his eyes linger on me for a moment longer, as if he’s trying to read between the lines. Tiernan’s like that—observant, patient, knowing when to push and when to let things be. It’s one of the things I appreciate most about him.
Across the table, Lochan’s gaze shifts between us, his expression unreadable. There’s a tension in him, something that hasn’t quite settled since we all started navigating this new dynamic. But he doesn’t say anything, just leans back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s guarding himself as much as he’s guarding me.
The sound of another chair pulls my attention, and I don’t need to look up to know who it is. Marius. His presence shifts the surrounding energy before he even speaks. There’s a heaviness to him now, and it settles over the group as he takes the empty seat next to me.
"Cozy little gathering," he says, voice edged with sarcasm. He leans back, one arm slung over the back of his chair, but his dark eyes flicker briefly to mine. It’s quick, that glance, but loaded.
"Didn’t think you’d join us," Rory says, tone light, but there’s an undercurrent, tensed and wary beneath the casual facade.
"Why wouldn’t I?" Marius’s lips twitch into a smirk, sharp and knowing. "I’m part of this merry little unit now, aren’t I?"
"Something like that," Callen mutters, not looking at him, occupying himself with tearing a piece of bread.
Marius chuckles quietly and I feel the weight of his gaze again, though this time he doesn’t look directly at me. The tension is buzzing just under the surface of their interactions, but no one pushes it further. Not here, not now.
I let out a slow breath, trying to focus on the fact that they’re all here, together. All five of my mates. That despite whatever unspoken resentments or unease might linger, they’ve made space for him—for me. It’s more than I ever thought possible, considering everything that’s happened. And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that this fragile peace could shatter at any moment.
My eyes drift across the room. The noise, the conversations, the clinking of silverware against plates—it all blurs into the background as my gaze lands on the far corner of the hall. Eira.
She’s sitting with Laria, heads close together, speaking in hushed tones. Laria’s pale blonde hair catches the light, her expression one of calculated charm. Eira, though... Eira looks different. Tired. Worn. Her laugh comes a second too late when Laria says something, and it doesn’t reach her eyes.
A pang hits me square in the chest, sharp and unexpected. Eira. My friend—or she was. Once. Before everything fell apart. I thought I hated her for what she did, but seeing her now, I don’t feel hate. Just... loss.
I look away quickly, my throat tightening. There’s no point dwelling on something I can’t fix, not now. Not when everything else is already so precarious.
"Brigid." Marius’s voice pulls me back. I glance at him, startled, and find his dark eyes fixed on me. For a moment, I wonder if he knows—if he saw how I looked at her, if he can sense the twisting inside my guts. But he doesn’t say anything else, just gives me that look, like he’s waiting for me to say something first.
"Yeah?" My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to, almost unsure.
"Nothing," he says after a pause, leaning back again. "Just making sure you’re still with us."
"Still here," I murmur, though it feels like a lie. Because part of me is still watching Eira.
"Shadow Queen, you going to sit there brooding all day or actually eat something?" Rory’s voice breaks through the noise. My head snaps in his direction, and he’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, lips smiling.
"Shadow Queen?" I echo, raising an eyebrow. "That what we’re going with now?"
"Well, it suits you, doesn’t it? All dark and moody," he says, tossing a handful of berries into his mouth. "If the crown fits, wear it."
"You're an idiot." But I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching upward just slightly. Rory has a way of doing that—dragging me out of my head whether I want him to or not.
"An idiot who got you to smile," he shoots back, grinning like he’s won something. "So really, I’m a genius. You’re welcome."
"Don’t let it go to your head," Callen chimes in, rolling his eyes as he takes a swig from his drink. "It’s big enough already."
"Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, prince," Rory retorts. It’s all banter, their usual rhythm, and for once, it feels easier to slip into it, to let myself be pulled along by their familiarity.
