“Think he’ll ask questions?”
“Probably. Won’t get any answers, though.”
He hums in agreement, already half-asleep against my chest. I hold him as his breathing evens out, as the sanctuary settles around us with what feels like contentment. As if it approves of what it started.
I should be thinking about what this means, how it changes everything.
Instead, all I can think about is how right this feels. How the thing under my skin has finally gone quiet.
I thought tonight was about Bree—about chasing the echo of her through him. But what I found was Wes. And in claiming him, I uncovered a part of myself I didn’t know I’d been waiting for—the part that doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t apologize. He’s mine now. Not because I took him, but because he gave himself to me. And that should probably terrify me. Instead, it settles into my bones like it’s always been there, like it was inevitable.
I hold him tighter, already knowing this won’t be the last time.
Chapter 20
Jace
Pancakes.
Golden, fluffy, not-burned-to-a-crisp pancakes.
I flip the last one with theatrical flair, landing it perfectly in the center of the pan. “Behold,” I announce to the empty kitchen, spatula raised like a sword. “Pancakes. Golden. Edible. No fire alarms. You’re welcome.”
The victory tastes sweeter because of recent disasters—like yesterday morning when I got distracted and burned a whole batch because I walked in on Gray and Wes having what was definitely not a casual conversation in the pantry. Let’s just say my focus has been… divided lately.
But today? Today I kept my eyes on the pan and my mind on the task.
And this? This is redemption served hot with syrup. And butter. Lots and lots of butter.
I stack the pancakes on a platter, admiring my handiwork. Perfect golden circles, evenly cooked, fluffy as clouds. Cooking is one of the few things that actually calms me down—there’s something therapeutic about the rhythm of mixing batter and flipping flapjacks when you know what you’re doing. Keeps my hands busy and my brain focused on something other than the chaos swirling around this place.
What the hell is happening in this place lately?
The sanctuary’s been… different. Charged, like the air before a storm. Everyone’s walking around like they’re carrying live wires under their skin. Something shifted after the whole Phil revelation, after Bree’s trip to the Void with Thane. The energy feels thicker, more electric.
Don’t overthink it. Just make pancakes.
I focus on plating instead. Stack the pancakes just so, arrange the bacon in neat rows, pour fresh orange juice into glasses. Simple tasks that keep my mind from wandering down paths that probably lead to more questions than answers.
Footsteps on the stairs—Rhett and Theo, judging by the rhythm. Early risers, both of them. Probably been up for an hour already, doing whatever responsible people do at dawn.
“Morning,” Rhett says as he appears in the doorway, hair slightly mussed but otherwise looking like he got actual sleep. Lucky bastard.
Theo follows, looking more rumpled than usual. His shirt’s buttoned wrong and there are pillow creases on his cheek. “Something smells incredible.”
“Feast your eyes,” I say, gesturing dramatically at the spread. “The breakfast of champions. Or fugitives. We’ll see how the day goes.”
Rhett’s mouth quirks in what might be a smile. “Impressive.”
“I have my moments.” I pour coffee into two mugs, sliding them across the counter. “Don’t look so surprised. I can handle basic kitchen duties without causing property damage.”
“Most of the time,” Theo adds, settling onto one of the stools.
“Hey, that lasagna was anexperiment.”
“A disaster,” Rhett corrects, but there’s warmth in his voice.
“I was testing the smoke alarm’s reliability.”
