To his right, Ash sits with a plate he hasn’t touched and a laptop open in front of him. He’s the only one who looks like he belongs in daylight. Ginger hair, slightly mussed like he’s been dragging his hand through it for hours. Tall, broad-shouldered. A ring in his brow, a small hoop in his lip, a silver bar through the top of his ear. Green eyes, watchful and too awake.
There’s a stillness to him that’s wrong. It’s not calm. It’s absence. Like he’s partially not here, already half in whatever file, feed, or feed of me he was looking at before I walked in. I feel his eyes on my posture. The way I hold my weight. The way I blink. He’s logging me.
To Rook’s left sits Vale.
I know it’s Vale before anyone says his name. Photographs pale in comparison… toallof them. The flashback of the file I was fed all those years ago flits across my mind. The handler, the file I wasn’t ever supposed to see. I shut it down, scanning his body again.
He looks like a sin you say yes to on purpose. Dark hair mussed in deliberate carelessness, jaw lined with stubble, full mouth curled like he’s already amused. Tattoos sleeve both arms, black and gray ink layered thick — script, teeth, thorns, saints with their eyes scratched out. Pitch-dark eyes. No piercings. He leans back in his chair like this is entertainment.
He’s eating. Slowly. Fork between his fingers like a weapon.
Saint’s at the far end, opposite Rook, long body lounged back in his chair like a fallen altar boy. Black hair shoulders-long and pushed back clean, no piercings, no ink in sight. His skin is sunkissed-gold, his features Mediterranean-sharp, his ice-blue eyes something that shouldn’t sit in a face that warm. He’s got prayer beads looped around his wrist like a bracelet, which should be laughable if he didn’t look like he means it.
And that leaves the empty chair beside Rook, which I’m guessing is for Wraith. Wraith moves past me and takes it. That leaves one open next toVale.
Of course.
Vale grins slow when I look at it. “Good morning, trouble.”
“I’mnotsitting next to him,” I say immediately.
Vale barks out a laugh, delighted. “Oh, Ilikeher.”
“Sit,” Caelum says.
The word isn’t loud. It doesn’t have to be. It’s a command, wrapped in silk, offered like an option. It makes my knees want to bend automatically.
Ihatethat.
I sit, but I drag the chair two inches farther from Vale before I do. His grin only widens. “Spicy,” he murmurs.
“Hungry,” I snap back without looking at him.
Rook nods to Wraith. Wraith reaches for something on the sideboard and sets a plate in front of me. Eggs, roasted peppers and onion, bacon, buttered toast. Real food, not scraps. Next to it, a mug of coffee and a glass of water.
I stare at it. My stomach is already screaming. My pride is louder.
I don’t move.
“Eat,” Caelum says.
“Is this poisoned, or are we saving that for lunch?” I ask, quirking a brow to let them know I mean business.
Vale lets out a low whistle. “I’ll do breakfast from now on. She can sit here every morning.”
Saint, without looking away from me, murmurs, “You speak like a cornered cat.”
“Iama cornered cat,” I say, scoffing at him.
Saint’s mouth curves in something too soft to be a smirk, too dangerous to be warmth. “Little lamb,” he hums, almost tender. “You don’t even know what you are yet.”
My eyes snap to him, anger flashing brightly in my chest. “Don’tcall me that.”
He tilts his head, like that just confirmed something for him. “As you wish.”
Ash, the techy one, hasn’t said a word. But his eyes have barely left me. His fingers move over keys without him looking at the screen — a habit, if I had to guess. He’s probably recording everything, cataloguing my tone, building a file he can dissect later. He looks at me like I’m something he’s waiting to wake up and bite him.
Caelum watches me watch all of them. He’s not rushing. That’s when I realize they’re not here for theatrics. They’re here to see what I do before I open my mouth. They want to see if I break.
