Ragon's jaw tightens.
I can feel his attention on me without looking. The same way he used to notice when I went quiet for too long.
I crunch another chip.
This time, he looks up.
Our eyes meet briefly. His expression is carefully neutral, but I see the irritation there. The alpha part of him that prefers order, quiet, control.
But there's something else layered underneath it.
Relief.
It flickers quickly, but I catch it. The way his gaze lingers just a beat longer than necessary. The way his shoulders ease, just barely, before he looks back down.
That tiny easing does something strange to my chest.
I don't stop being noisy.
I flip another page. I tap my foot once against the couch arm. I rearrange my snack plate with a little clatter. I exist loudly, messily, unapologetically, even though a part of me expects him to snap.
He doesn't.
The room settles into a strange rhythm instead—pen scratching, pages turning, chips crunching, leather creaking. It feels almost domestic. Like something from before everything broke.
The door opens quietly.
Drake steps into the study carrying a steaming mug of coffee. He pauses when he sees me sprawled across thecouch like I'm auditioning for Most Annoying Presence in the House.
A slow grin spreads across his face.
"Well, this feels familiar."
I lift my book just enough to peer over the edge. "I like to keep things lively."
He chuckles softly and crosses the room, careful not to jostle my legs as he leans down to set the mug beside my snack plate. He places it deliberately, making sure it's far enough away that it won't get knocked over.
"Figured you might want this."
The warmth of the mug curls into the air. I look up at him and smile—really smile, without thinking about it first.
"Thank you."
It's simple. Genuine. Unguarded.
Drake's grin softens instantly, something fond and protective flickering across his face. He gives my shoulder a light squeeze—brief, careful, asking nothing—and straightens.
As he turns to leave, I feel it.
Ragon watching.
I glance toward the desk, and his gaze is fixed on the interaction, eyes narrowed not in anger but in concentration. Like he's memorizing something. The way I smiled. The way Drake moved without hesitation or pressure. The way the moment unfolded without fear.
His pen is still in his hand, but he isn't writing.
Drake catches the look too, because he pauses in the doorway and gives Ragon a pointed, knowing glance before slipping out.
The door clicks shut.
