Their arrival drew a faint shift in Hale’s expression. He acknowledged each of them with a polite nod, the kind reserved for men who might matter later.
“This is Sage,” Titus said, keeping it simple. “Ocean. Aspen.”
“Unique names, like yours,” Hale murmured.
“Very,” Titus agreed.
“Mine’s a nickname,” Sage said, leaning in as he draped an arm over the booth like he owned it. Ocean crossed one leg over the other with fluid grace. Aspen remained composed, silent but present—always the most dangerous one in the room if you knew how to read him.
The table now felt like a power cluster.
Hale’s eyes moved from one young adult to the next before returning to Titus with a mild, assessing tilt of his head.
“You surround yourself well.”
Titus gave a slight nod, offering nothing more.
“So, you’ve been back a week now,” Hale said, voice low, conversational. “Intending to stay?”
Titus swirled the whiskey in his glass. “For now.”
A non-answer.
Hale took it as it was meant—polite, closed, a line drawn.
“I see.” Hale’s gaze drifted over the crowd, thoughtful. “New York always shifts when the old families return. People pay attention.”
Titus didn’t respond.
He didn’t need to.
Vale leaned an elbow on the back of the booth, watching Hale with the kind of stillness that made smart men keep their distance. Syx stayed on the other side, arms loose at his sides, gaze drifting without ever really leaving Hale.
Hale noticed the formation, the professionalism, the readiness. His expression didn’t change—only sharpened slightly at the edges.
Sage, never knowing how to leave silence alone, leaned forward with a grin. “So, Hale—what do you do? You look too polished to be unemployed.”
Ocean snorted softly. Aspen hid a smile behind his glass.
Hale took the question in stride. “Consulting,” he said, tone mild. “Strategic advising for a few…select clients.”
Sage rested his chin on his hand, flirting without even trying. “Sounds ominous.”
“It can be,” Hale admitted, his eyes sliding to Titus—and holding. “They expect a certain discretion.”
A warning? Not quite.
A veiled reference? Maybe.
More likely an invitation.
Titus read all three. Hale was testing the assumption most men in their world made—that if Tanis and Tatum had done business with monsters, then Titus would be open to the same.
He’d planned on steering Hale in that direction anyway.
Now he didn’t have to.
“Discretion is in short supply these days,” Titus said.
