“Same,” Syx said flatly. “Habit.”
Aspen lifted one shoulder. “I pay in information. No one takes it.”
“Shocking,” Memphis muttered.
A shadow slid into the last open space without warning.
Boston dropped into the seat like he’d been there all along, plate already loaded with fries. “I vote Law. He ordered the GDP of a small country.”
Law stared at him. Actually gaped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Boston shrugged, unfazed, biting into a fry. “Passing by. Passing through. Take your pick.”
“He’s been here long enough to order food,” Ocean pointed out, plucking a fry straight off Boston’s plate.
Boston nodded, chewing. “True. Some observant operatives you guys are.”
Law didn’t laugh. His gaze stayed locked on Boston as the implications stacked—fast and unpleasant.
“Where’s Rip?”
Boston’s mouth twisted. “How should I know?”
Law’s eyes slid past him.
Rip was already coming through the door, timing so perfect it felt intentional. Big. Solid. Unimpressed.
“Not very observant,” Law said mildly.
Boston froze, fry suspended midair, then shot a look over his shoulder.
Rip closed the distance, eyes sweeping the crowded tables before settling on the kid. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Boston straightened fast, grin snapping back into place. “Yet here I am.”
Law watched it all with the faintest edge of a smile, then flicked his gaze back to Sage as he answered Memphis’s question. “Breakfast is on me.”
“Of course it is.” Sage smiled and leaned back, fingers grazing the tablet on the table but not opening it. His phone buzzed again. Not for the first time. He ignored it.
Their eyes held for a beat longer than necessary—quiet, easy, loaded with something unnamed—before the diner noise rushed back in around them: coffee steaming, plates arriving, the city pressing close.
Small talk resumed around the table. Plates followed—piled high, crowding elbows and menus. The waitress swung back through, took Rip’s order, topped off coffee cups, then disappeared again into the rush.
“Where’s the boss man?” Rip asked, glancing toward the door like he half-expected Viper to walk in on cue.
“With Titus,” Ocean said easily, mouth full, one curl falling into his eyes.
Boston snorted, still tucking fries away like it was a competitive sport. “And they don’t need a referee?”
“Not for this,” Law drawled, spearing the top pancake with his fork and taking a couple of efficient bites.
Rip blinked. “Since when?”
Law lifted one shoulder, swallowed. “Since he got here.”
“No shit,” Rip muttered, a crease cutting across his brow as he stole a few of Boston’s fries. “I figured those two would kill each other.”
“Still might,” Memphis said around coffee and eggs.
