I want to shrug it off, make another joke, something. But the simple, steady praise lands somewhere raw.
I exhale instead, tension leaking out of my shoulders. I let myself lean back against him, just a little, feeling the way his arm tightens instinctively to hold me closer.
From this angle, I can see the way his man bun is knotted at the back of his head, the few stray strands that escaped brushing his neck. I can see the line of his throat when he swallows, the way the tattoos disappear under his sleeve.
My instincts, spiteful and needy, roll in his scent like a cat in sunlight.
He turns my face toward his and kisses me softly.
I hate that it helps.
Eli watches us from the counter, a small, tired smile on his face. Drake taps his fingers on the edge of the sink, eyes distant like he's turning something over in his head.
Movement in the hallway catches my eye.
Marie stands just at the corner, half-hidden, like she froze when she saw us.
Her gaze snags on where I'm sitting—on Ragon's lap, tucked under his arm, his hand resting over my hip. Her scent flares, quick and sharp: surprise, then irritation, then something like hurt.
She smooths it down quickly, ducking her head as she steps all the way into view, neutral expression firmly in place.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You didn't," Ragon says, his voice even. He doesn't move me off his lap.
Marie's eyes flick from his face to mine, then to his hand on my waist. "I just wanted some water."
Drake jumps into motion. "I'll get it," he says, eager, grabbing a glass and filling it from the tap. He hands it to her with a flourish. "Hydration is important. House rule six."
She smiles weakly, fingers brushing his. "Thank you."
Her scent still has that faint knot of annoyance in it. Not rage. Not ugly jealousy. Just the prickling discomfort of seeing someone else held where she wasn't expecting anyone to be.
I should feel triumphant.
I don't.
I feel tired. Like we're all standing on different sections of a crumbling floor, trying not to fall through.
Marie takes her water and retreats, the sound of her door closing gently a minute later.
Silence settles for a beat.
Ragon exhales, the breath stirring my hair. "One hell of a battle ahead of us."
"You said that before."
His chest moves in a soft huff. Not quite a laugh. "I realized it when Drake walked in smelling like fate and panic. It just keeps hitting new stages."
Eli steps closer, resting a hand on the back of Ragon's chair, fingers brushing my shoulder. "We'll get through it. Somehow."
"Optimist."
"Realist," he corrects.
Drake leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. His eyes are on me, not Marie's closed door.
"You okay?"
