The door closed quietly behind them.
And whatever came next didn’t need words.
The diner was loud in the way only New York could manage at one in the morning—plates clattering, coffee pouring, neon humming while traffic slid past outside. They’d taken over a corner booth and then some, two tables shoved together and angled in, half blocking the aisle.
Their weapons were locked in the rental SUV outside—no metal, no heat, just food and eyes on the room.
The waitresses didn’t mind. Smiles followed them down the line, one redhead slowing long enough to clock Memphis before snapping back to work with a grin.
“Y’all military or models?” she asked cheerfully.
“Depends who’s asking,” Memphis said, already elbow-deep in sugar packets like he was preparing to summon something unholy.
That earned a laugh and a shake of the head as she moved on, calling, “I’ll be back for the rest of you, don’t go nowhere.”
“As if we could,” Ocean muttered, perched sideways on the booth with one knee up, curls falling into his eyes. He looked bored. He wasn’t.
Law sat at the junction where booth met chair, broad frame angled just enough that he wasn’t crowding Sage—and just enough that he could see him clearly. Not hunched. Not boxed in. Open. Intentional.
Sage sat beside him on the booth’s long side, turned in his seat so they faced each other at an angle, tablet resting on thetable amid abandoned menus and a forest of coffee mugs—close enough to glance down when needed, but not buried in it.
Their knees didn’t touch. Their shoulders didn’t brush. But when Sage glanced up, he caught Law’s gaze dead-on—whiskey-colored, steady, sharp. Law saw the green in return, bright and alert even under fluorescent lights that made everyone else look half-dead.
The waitress came back around, notepad out, pen poised. Orders rolled in—coffee, eggs, whatever was fastest—until she stopped in front of Law.
He didn’t hesitate. Rattled it off like a checklist.
The pen slowed. The notepad filled.
Sage glanced down, then up at Law. “Jesus Christ. Is that everything?”
Law didn’t look away from him. “That’s just breakfast.”
“That’s a challenge,” Sage corrected. “That’s not a breakfast order—that’s a lifestyle choice.”
The waitress blinked at the list. “Honey, if you want a ten-stack, we don’t—”
“Then make it two,” Law said calmly, eyes on Sage. “With the works.”
Sage’s mouth kicked up. “You planning to hibernate or just establish dominance over pancakes?”
“Fuel,” Law said. “We’ve had a night.”
Syx snorted from his chair, leaned back, and watched the front windows like they might sprout teeth. “Understatement of the year.”
Aspen didn’t look up, but his eyes tracked the way the waitress’s pen paused, recalculated. “You’re going to slow the kitchen.”
Law shrugged. “They’ll manage.”
Sage tipped his head, studying him with open amusement. “You realize she’s going to bring that out on three separate plates just to make a point.”
“I respect that,” Law said. “Shows character.”
Memphis finally stopped stirring sugar long enough to glance up. “Hold up. Before we all pretend this is normal—who’s paying?”
That did it.
Ocean twisted around. “Not me. I forgot my wallet on purpose.”
