The tension thickened.
Cassian’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Still convinced your way is the only way.”
“It’s the one that lasts.”
A pause stretched.
“We’ll see which they want more—longevity, or liquidity,” Cassian said. Then he turned and walked away. His security peeled off the wall and followed him out.
Gage’s jaw moved once. He didn’t speak.
Bea watched the doorway a moment longer. Then turned to him. “It seems like he thinks you care more about being right than winning.”
Gage looked at her.
She didn’t know the deal. She’d barely spoken to Cassian before. But in her own way, she understood them both.
“I don’t,” he said, taking a sip of whisky.
She picked up a salted macadamia nut and crunched on it, then offered him one. “I guess he’ll find out the hard way.”
Gage took it from her fingers.
And for the first time that night, he smiled.
The morning was clear in that rare, golden way London sometimes offered to those about to leave it. The car dropped them just shy of the main gates. He took her hand without a word.
Gage looked more like himself again. It seemed like the pressure had eased for now.
King’s College rose ahead. Regal old brick, carved stone, gothic architecture, iron lanterns. Ivy trailed the windows, clinging like it had for centuries.
It was early, but not empty. Summer programs kept the campus active. Someone was running late, arms full of books. Bea watched two girls walk by, arms linked, their laughter carrying faintly over cobblestone.
Gage tucked his free hand into his coat pocket. “Oxford’s beautiful,” he began. “But it’s not in the city. Same with Cambridge. The train ride would be about an hour. But they’re options, if you want them to be.”
Bea’s hand slid along the rough red brick of the old hall. This place was older than St. Ives.
“I don’t even know if they would accept me,” she murmured.
“You’d get in wherever you want to go.”
They walked a little farther through the quad, under an archway, past a noticeboard covered in paper corners and lost-pet signs.
After circling the campus, they made their way along the Thames. Ahead, the London Eye rose, white and skeletal against the cloudless sky. The Southbank was just stirring, and vendors were wheeling carts into place. The scent of espresso and river wind curled in the air.
Gage glanced at her. “You glad you came?”
“With you? Of course.”
“What did you think of London?”
“It’s impressive. Cultured. Historic.”
“It could be home,” he said quietly.
A soft flutter began low in her stomach.
She wanted to belong to something here. She just hadn’t found it yet. They paused at a railing. The river churned below.
