He stood near the fireplace, hands on his hips, shoulders squared like he was taking up a defensive position. I hovered by the arm of one of the chairs, the note card heavy in my fingers.
Charlie walked in less than a minute later, barefoot in jeans and a navy T-shirt, hair a little messier like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. He looked younger out of the curated daytime outfit, but the alertness in his eyes was the same.
“Well,” he said, taking us in. “Either Dominion Hall has developed a dress code for late-night emergencies, or I’ve interrupted something.”
His gaze flicked between my dress and Levi’s button-down, and there it was again—that assessing time-lapse look, measuring us together.
“You look good,” he added, almost offhand. “Together, I mean.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“We got something at dinner,” I said, stepping forward before Levi could. I held out the card.
Charlie took it between two fingers, turning it under the lamplight. His face didn’t change. Not really. But something in his posture went still.
He read it once. Twice. Then he looked up.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“At Verandelle,” I said. “A hostess brought it over. Said a woman handed it to her, pointed at our table, and left.”
“No name?” he asked.
“No.”
“Description?”
“Blonde,” I said. “Twenties, maybe. Nervous. But that might’ve just been first-week-on-the-job energy.”
Charlie considered that. Then he handed the card back.
“And you came straight here,” he said.
“Yes.” I slipped the card into my purse before he could change his mind. “Because it mentions ‘them all.’ Which, unless I’ve badly misread the situation, means the men of Dominion Hall.”
His gaze moved to Levi.
“And because of the father part,” he said.
Levi’s jaw clenched. “What does this have to do with you?”
Charlie exhaled slowly, running a hand over his mouth. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked … tired. Not in body—his shoulders were still straight, his stance loose and ready—but somewhere behind the eyes.
“Some conversations,” he said, “are better had without an audience.”
I bristled. “I’m not an audience. I’m?—”
“His,” Charlie finished quietly. “Whether you want that or not.”
That shut me up.
Levi’s head snapped in my direction, then back. “Stop talking around it,” he said. “What does my father have to do with this place? With you?”
Charlie studied him for a long moment.
Then he glanced toward the doorway.
“Maybe,” he said, voice pitched a little louder, “you should come in now.”
