Hale’s gaze slid between them, weighing. Judging.
“There’s a meeting coming up,” Hale said. “Off-site. Restricted. Decision-makers only.” His tone shifted—subtle,pleased. “If you’re serious about stepping back into this world, that’s where it happens.”
An invitation, not a warning.
Titus met Hale’s look with calm authority, like a man assessing a negotiation already in progress.
“If I’m walking into a room like that,” Titus said evenly, “I want to know who’s in it.”
Hale’s smile widened.
“That’s the right instinct,” he said. “I’ll send a time. Location tier only. Discretion is currency.”
Viper remained silent. Hale read it as discipline. As an agreement.
He stepped back, satisfied, already turning—secure in the belief he’d just widened the circle.
They watched him go.
They weren’t being tested.
They were being welcomed.
And that was far more dangerous.
The music slid through the room smoothly, polished to the point of erasure.
Too smooth. Too careful.
A string quartet piped through hidden speakers, the notes softened until they were more texture than melody. Conversation layered over it in controlled bursts—low laughter, glass on crystal, the muted rustle of expensive fabric. The air smelled faintly of citrus, polished wood, and something floral that cut sharply through the warmth. Money, yes—but also restraint.
Nothing here was accidental.
Titus’s eyes swept the crowd, cataloging suits, donors, security—until familiarity snapped into place where it shouldn’t have.
“Christ,” Titus muttered under his breath.
Viper’s brow creased, his eyes tracking the line of Titus’s gaze across the room. Curiosity sparked.
“Who…” Viper asked quietly.
“My parents,” Titus said flatly.
His jaw tightened as he stared across the room. Elias Harrington stood near the far wall, glass in hand, posture open and political. Lorraine was beside him—immaculate, composed—her attention angled toward a man in a slate suit speaking with practiced ease.
“Didn’t think they’d show up here,” Titus said under his breath.
“Maybe they’re donors and don’t know,” Viper replied.
Titus shot him a look. The corner of Viper’s mouth quirked.
“You seriously think they’re involved?” Viper asked, squinting.
“No,” Titus said, exhaling. “But they’re an added problem I don’t need right now.”
He didn’t want them anywhere near this op. And with his mother, near always turned into leverage. Demands—social, political, personal—whatever suited her agenda. She’d try to maneuver him, bend him back into the family orbit. Pressure him toward alliances he didn’t want. Toward roles he’d already rejected.
At least she couldn’t use his brothers against him.
