“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
I glance at him. “I’m functional.”
“That’s what I thought.” He grins. “Progress.”
The smell of warm bread and something herbal drifts up. My stomach growls.
Finn nudges my shoulder. “See? Your body agrees with me. Breakfast fixes everything.”
“Does it fix almost dying?”
“I mean… it helps.”
The main room is bigger than I expected. Wooden beams. Sunlight through wide windows. A long table set with plates and cups.
And everyone’s there.
Torric and Aspen sit opposite each other, bracketing the table like bookends. Malrik’s got a clear view of the door—shoulders relaxed but his eyes land on me as soon as we walk in. Kieran sits near the head of the table, posture perfect even though I know he’s hiding bandages under that shirt.
And Darian.
He’s sitting opposite where I’m clearly meant to go. Between Torric and Aspen. Watched. But included.
He’s eating quietly. Head down. Not speaking unless spoken to.
The tension isn’t hostile anymore. Just… wary.
They’re being careful, I get it.
Finn guides me to the seat between him and Kieran.
Kieran’s posture shifts when I sit. Just barely. The smallest easing in his shoulders.
I move to sit—and suddenly my shadows converge at once.
Bob positioning himself like a bodyguard. Carl darting between my feet. Patricia’s notebook blazing. Linda hovering protectively. Mouse pressed against my ankles, purring hard.
The others follow from the corners of the room, clustering close like they’re all trying to help me sit.
It’s… a lot.
The table notices.
Torric’s mouth twitches—almost a smile.
Aspen’s ice-blue eyes soften.
Malrik watches with quiet fascination.
Finn grins. “Entourage.”
Kieran’s gaze flickers to the shadows, then back to me. Something unreadable in his expression.
Even Darian glances up briefly before dropping his eyes again.
I finally manage to sit and Torric slides a plate toward me like nothing happened. “Eat.”
