Bren shrugs as he pushes back from the table and crosses to the bench behind me, setting the kettle on the stove like his hands need the distraction. “Anyone want a drink?”
Everyone shakes their heads—except Ezzy, who perks up, hand already halfway raised. “I’ll have some tea, please.”
Bren nods but doesn't turn around.
I decline, keeping my eyes fixed on Talen. He leans back in Bren’s armchair, palms lifted in mock surrender.“Don’t know why you’re staring at me.”His voice curls at my ear, too clear for the distance between us.“But it sounds like your friend’s got herself a catch.”
My breath stalls, tight in my throat. No. It couldn’t be him, that doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t even know her, wouldn’t care. He’s never cared about anything outside of his own smug orbit. Except, my eyes went to him without thinking, like my body’s trying to connect dots my head refuses to make. And he didn’t look surprised. Just smug.
“So… Lyra told me you have five sisters?” Ezzy asks as Bren sits back down and slides a mug toward her. She’s clearly been waiting for a gap to ask all her questions, jumping on the silence like it might close up again.
Bren doesn’t smile. Just blinks, like he’s still figuring out what to make of her.
“Yeah,” he replies finally. “All younger. My mum raised us on her own, so?—”
Suddenly his voice cuts out mid-sentence, mouth still moving, but nothing comes out. He frowns, clears his throat, tries again.
“—on her own, so I was the only guy in the house growing up.” He pauses. Shakes his head once, like he’s trying to brush it off.
Finn doesn’t seem to notice. Just snorts softly. “Could’ve used some of that. I had five brothers. Our house smelled like sweat and blood and whatever we were burning that day.”
“Yeah, well, it has its—” Bren’s voice gone again. Clean. Mid-word. His brow pulls tight. Like he’s trying to shove the sound out by force.
I snap my head to Talen. His right elbow is propped on the armrest, no dagger in his hand now; instead, his fist is closed tight, grin even tighter. He catches me glaring and just lifts his brows in a silent ‘what’?
I should let it go, pretend I didn’t see, and keep the upper hand by staying quiet. The package of journals sits barely two strides away, taunting me. So close. If I lost control now, I could lose them with it. But silence means letting him get away with his games. And this time? He’s doing it inmyspace.
Bren’s voice cuts back in again, like a signal stuttering back to life. “—its pros and cons.” He coughs. Blinks. Shakes his head. “What the?—?”
That’s it. I shove back my chair and walk straight across the room. Talen doesn’t move. Just watches as I grab his arm. My hand tight in the fabric just above his elbow. He doesn't protest, not even a raised brow, he just lets me haul him to his feet like this is all part of some game he’s already winning.
As I drag him towards the door, he reaches back and grabs both of his daggers, sliding them into place without slowing. We pass Rowan, but I don’t look at him as I swing the door open and haul Talen out.
The door doesn’t catch. I don’t care, I leave it ajar as a shiver licks up my spine; it’s colder than I expected. Darker, too.
“What the fuck are you doing?” My voice cuts the silence as I let go of Talen's arm. “Why are you really here? What’s your deal with Bren?”
His mouth curves, but there’s a tension to it, rougher than I’ve seen. “Other than the fact he’s an Outerlander who’s been taking down my men?” The words hit hard, but before I can answer, Talen leans in. “He likes you.”
“Of course he likes me. He’s known me since I was like 5.”
He tilts his head, movements edged, unsettled. “Oh, we both know it’s more than that.”
My throat goes tight. “No, it isn’t. And how the hell would you know anyway? We’re just friends. We fuck sometimes, that’s it.”
“Thorn,” he pushes, brow lifting as he steps in closer. “I’m usually good at picking up on people’s emotions, but with him? I don’t even need to. And I know you’re not stupid—you see it too.”
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s wrong. Bren and I... we have an agreement. No mess. No strings.We’re not... that. We never were. And why the hell does he even care?
The question is louder than I expect. He’s acting like it matters. LikeBrenmatters. LikeImatter. And I know it's been him delivering the Spice, it has to be.He’s acting like someone who gives a shit.
My brain does the math—quick, sharp, clinical. There’s no logical reason for him to care unless— No. Absolutely not. I snap the thought in half before it finishes forming.
There’s no version of Talen Veirmont thatcaresabout anyone else, at least not without conditions. Or consequences.And even if,if, he did,I wouldn’t care.I couldn’t. I don’t.
He’s dangerous. That’s what he is. And he’s done nothing but mess with me since the first day in the courtyard—twistingtruths, forcing my hand, dragging me into games I never asked to play. Tried to kill me. Controlled me. Made me his pawn. And now he gets to stand there like he gives a shit?
No. I’m done with the mind games, the questions, and the answers he never gives. I’m home now, I’m staying, and I don’t have to see him again.
