My pulse steadied under his hand.
Reo took the seat on my left.
The Dragon and the Roar flanked me. I felt so protected and supported.
A soft knock sounded at the smaller door near the bar cart. It opened just enough for Sako to enter with a cart of teapots and cups.
Since I was in hunting mode, I took the time to check Sako too.
Sako’s gaze went to Kenji first—automatic deference—then to the Roar, me, next the Fangs and Claws. His shoulders stayed straight, but tension clung to him.
He’s worried about something.
He circled the table with a quiet, practiced grace—each step a soft whisper against the polished floor. The porcelain rattled faintly on the lacquered tray, the delicate chime somehow sharpening the tension around us. A clean ribbon of steam curled upward from each cup, carrying the scent of honeyed lavender and chamomile.
Sako set the first cup before Kenji with both hands and bowed his head just slightly. The steam washed over Kenji’s knuckles.
Next, he moved to me. The cup he placed at my side was warm enough that the heat pulsed against my wrist before I even touched it. The fragrant vapor rose around me.
Reo’s cup landed with the lightest tap, barely a sound, though the steam fogged the edge of his glasses instantly. He blinked once, clearing his view.
After that, Sako made his way around the table, offering each man his own plume of heat and calm. The scent grew stronger as he moved—an enveloping wave of honeyed lavender and chamomile warmth drifting between the weapons, the muscle, the cold eyes assessing. Even the air thickened with it, as if thetea itself were trying to soothe tempers the room could no longer contain.
And the whole time, I watched Sako.
He didn’t flinch under Kenji’s glance.
He didn’t stare too long at me.
He didn’t scan the exits like a man plotting escape.
He just looked like someone afraid his friends might die.
Our gazes brushed as he stepped back.
Fear.
Unmistakable.
Bone-deep.
But my guess was that it wasn’t the fear of a man with secrets. I believed it was the fear of a man who loved people and had to watch them walk into war.
His hands hadn’t shaken when he poured tea. His jaw never clenched. His eyes stayed clear. No darting glances at exits. No hesitation near Kenji.
I'd seen guilty fear before—it made people smaller, quieter, invisible.
Sako stood straighter.
It’s loyal fear.
The kind that made men stay when any sane person would run. Loyal fear had a shape—upright posture, steady breath, eyes that never looked for exits because leaving wasn’t an option. I’d seen it in soldiers, in whistleblowers, in activists who stood up to power knowing it could cost them everything. Sako wore that same quiet bravery like a second skin.
Yeah. I don’t think he is the spy right now. He’s giving off the energy of super loyal.
But I filed him for further investigation anyway.
Fear made people do stupid things.
