More footsteps on the stairs—Thane’s measured pace, unmistakable even from a distance. He appears in the doorway looking like he slept about as well as I did, which is to say not at all. His usually perfect composure is slightly rumpled around the edges.
“Coffee,” he says without preamble, like it’s a prayer.
“Coming right up,” I say, pouring him a mug. “You look like hell.”
“Charming as always, Langston.” But there’s no real bite to it. He accepts the coffee like it’s a lifeline.
More footsteps—multiple sets this time. I know without looking that it’s the trio who’ve been practically orbiting each other for weeks. The tension’s been building so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Bree appears first, moving slower than usual. She’s wearing what looks like Gray’s shirt—definitely his, it’s way too big and smells like cedar even from here—and her hair’s doing that thing where it looks artfully messy instead of just messy.
Then Wes, whose face has that soft, slightly dazed expression that comes after really good—
Nope. Not going there.
Gray brings up the rear, and I have to do a double-take. There’s something different about him. Something in the way he moves, like he’s finally settled into his own skin after years of fighting it. His eyes catch the light when he glances around the kitchen, just for a second, and I swear they flash with something that definitely isn’t human.
When the hell did everyone get a magical upgrade while I was flipping pancakes?
“Please tell me that’s coffee,” Bree says, voice rough with exhaustion.
“Coffee, pancakes, bacon, and orange juice,” I announce. “The full spread. Because apparently, y’all look like you need feeding.”
She pauses halfway to the counter, and I catch the way she glances at Wes and Gray. Not guilty, exactly. More like she’s checking to make sure they’re okay. Like whatever happened between them was intense enough to require aftercare.
Holy shit.
“Busy night?” I ask, eyebrow raised, because I apparently have no filter when I’m operating on three hours of sleep.
Bree nearly chokes on her first sip of coffee. Wes flushes bright red. Gray just glares at me like he’s considering throwing something sharp in my direction.
And then Stellan—because of course he chooses this exact moment to grace us with his presence—walks in carrying his own mug and catches the tail end of my question.
He takes one look at the three of them, glances at Thane’s rigid posture, then at me, and bursts out laughing.
Not his usual controlled chuckle or that razor-sharp amusement he uses like a weapon. This is genuine, unrestrained laughter that echoes off the kitchen walls and makes everyone jump.
“Oh, I like this one,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “Subtle as a brick to the face.”
Thane shoots Stellan a look that could freeze fire, but there’s something almost relieved in his expression. Like he’s grateful someone else is acknowledging what he’s seeing.
“I aim to please,” I mutter, but I’m grinning now too. Because Stellan laughing—really laughing—is like watching a marble statue crack jokes. Rare and weirdly endearing.
Bree buries her face in her coffee mug. “Can we please just eat?”
“Absolutely,” I say, because watching her try to disappear into her breakfast is almost as entertaining as watching Gray contemplate murder. “Dig in, people. Food’s getting cold.”
Rhett and Theo exchange one of those looks—the kind that says they’re having an entire conversation without words. Whatever they’re thinking, it’s serious enough to make the easy morning atmosphere shift.
“We can’t just sit here,” Rhett says finally, his voice carrying that no-nonsense tone that means he’s thinking tactically. “We need a plan. Do we run, or do we face Phil?”
The name drops into the conversation like a stone in still water, sending ripples of tension through the room. Bree goes very still, her knuckles white where she grips her mug.
“Can we just eat?” she asks again, but there’s an edge to her voice now. A warning.
“We can’t ignore this forever,” Theo says gently. “The Council knows where we are. Phil’s coming. We have maybe hours before—”
“Before what?” Bree cuts him off. “Before we have to choose between running like criminals or fighting a war we’re not ready for?”
