That's the worst part. Even without looking, I'm aware of exactly where each of them is. All three of them directly across from me, a wall of alpha energy I can't escape. Atlas on the left, his presence steady and calm like a low hum of electricity. Zero in the middle, his energy jagged and sharp, a storm barely contained. Bane on the right, close enough that I can feel his gaze even when I'm not meeting it.
I keep my eyes on my plate. Don't look up. Don't make eye contact. If I don't look at them, maybe I can pretend they're not looking at me.
"Max, honey, you've barely touched your food."
Margot's voice pulls me back. I blink, realize I've been pushing the same piece of chicken around for the past five minutes.
"Sorry. I'm just—" I reach for my water glass. "Not super hungry tonight."
"Are you feeling okay? You look a little flushed."
I am flushed. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, spreading down my neck. It's been getting worse all day—that low simmer under my skin that never quite goes away anymore. The sizzle in my veins that spikes at random moments and leaves me dizzy.
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just warm in here."
"I can turn down the heat—"
"No, it's okay. Really."
I take a bite of chicken to prove I'm fine. Chew. Swallow. It tastes like nothing.
"So," Richard says, setting down his fork with the deliberate precision of a man about to conduct a business meeting. These dinners were his idea–a way to force bonding. And he’s about to force it. "Atlas. How are things at the office?"
Atlas dabs his mouth with his napkin—methodical, unhurried. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow tonight, exposing the corded muscle of his forearms. I watch his fingers foldthe napkin, precise and controlled, and try not to think about how those hands felt cradling my face in the kitchen after he bandaged up my hands.
"Fine. The Hendricks account closed yesterday. Ahead of schedule."
"Good. Good." Richard nods. "And the situation with the Vancouver shipments?"
"Handled."
The single word lands like a door closing. Atlas lifts his wine glass, takes a slow sip. The column of his throat moves as he swallows. Richard's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but he doesn't push.
Margot jumps in, her voice bright. Too bright. "Bane, honey, how's the new semester going? You're taking that business ethics class, right? The one you were excited about?"
Bane's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. He's wearing a henley tonight, the top two buttons undone, a sliver of collarbone visible. His hair is still damp from a recent shower, curling slightly at the ends.
"It's fine."
"Just fine?" Margot presses gently. "You seemed really interested in the professor's research when you signed up."
"The professor's an idiot." Bane shrugs, the movement pulling the fabric tight across his shoulders. "But the coursework is easy enough."
He glances at me as he says it—just a flicker, barely a second—but I feel it like a touch. I look away first.
"What about you, Zero?" Margot turns her hopeful smile toward him. "Any interesting projects coming up?"
Zero doesn't look up from his plate. He's cutting his chicken with more force than necessary, the knife scraping against porcelain. His jaw is tight, the muscle feathering beneaththe sharp line of his cheekbone. Dark hair falls across his forehead, and he doesn't bother pushing it back.
"No."
The silence that follows is excruciating. I watch Margot's smile falter, just slightly, before she shores it back up.
"Well," she says, reaching for the bowl of mashed potatoes, "Max has been working so hard lately. I feel like I barely see him anymore." She turns to me, and I can see the plea in her eyes. Help me out here. "Tell everyone about your creative writing class, sweetheart. Didn't you say your professor loved your last story?"
My stomach drops. "It's not—I mean, it was just a short assignment."
"Don't be modest." Margot beams. "He said you have real talent. A unique voice."
