“I slept fine,” I lie.
“Sure you did,” Jack mutters.
Bran’s gaze slides to Jack. “You got a minute? Outside.”
Jack pushes off the counter. “Yeah.”
“Excuse me,” I say. “If you’re going to have a strategy meeting about my life, you should have it where I can eavesdrop properly.”
Neither of them dignifies that with a response.
Bran steps back to the door. When he opens it, cold air rushes in again. Jack follows him into the hall. The door clicks shut behind them.
I stand there, donut in hand, frosting on my fingers, feeling like someone just hit pause on my life and walked away with the remote.
They talk in low voices outside. I can’t make out the words through the door, but I can hear the cadence. Jack’s gruff rumble. Bran’s deeper, steadier tone. No raised voices. No obvious argument.
I hate it.
I grab my phone and text Cotton.
ME:he’s here
COTTON:the serial killer???
ME:wow okay no. babysitter. Kael sent Bran
COTTON:oh
ME:what does “oh” mean
COTTON: just “oh he’s very large and sort of hot in a terrifying way”
ME:BLOCKED
COTTON: lol okay sure. do you need me to come distract you or are you going to sexually harass the help all by yourself
ME: I hate everyone
COTTON: that’s the PTSD talking. eat ur donut
The door opens again before I can come up with a scathing reply.
Bran steps back inside. Jack follows, looking resigned.
“Okay,” Jack says. “Here’s the plan.”
“I would love to hear the part where I get a veto,” I say.
He doesn’t smile. “There is no veto.”
“Democracy is dead,” I mutter.
“Democracy never lived in this apartment,” Jack says. “Bran’s going to be with you for the next little while. Twenty-four seven.”
My skin prickles. “Define ‘with me.’”
“Here, in the apartment, with you,” Bran says.
