"And can I really work in the booth still? I know what you said this morning. I'm verifying."
Knox looks at me. I look at Nico.
At dawn this morning, I saidthe booth is yours.I said it before I could stop it, the truth before the thought. And Nico heard it. And Knox heard it. And it hung in the air like a promise neither of us was ready for.
Now, at this table, with the whole pride watching, I don't say it again. I don't need to. Instead I say something smaller that means something bigger.
"I'll clear the outlet next to the booth," I say. "Your laptop charger barely reaches from the current one."
It's a practical statement about electrical infrastructure. It is also, obviously, not about electrical infrastructure at all. It's about making space. It's about adjusting the architecture of a room to accommodate someone you want to stay.
Nico looks at me. His eyes are dark, steady, and what's behind them is not about outlets.
"Thank you," he says. And means everything.
"Okay," Knox says, breaking it gently before the entire table drowns in whatever's happening between me and Nico. "Ezra, coordinate with Delgado. We don't need him yet, but I want him to know what we're doing just in case. Nico, make your call. Everyone else; business as usual until we know more. Nobody talks about this outside this room."
Heads nod. The meeting is over. The dinner isn't. Toby refills wine glasses and Jason brings out more pie and the conversation loosens again, shifting from Coldwell to lighter things. Robin argues with Jason about crust techniques. Vaughn eats a third piece of pie without comment. Ash and Nico talk quietly about something I can't hear, which means Ash is being deliberately quiet, which means it's something real. I catch fragments; structure, systems, the loneliness of building your life around competence instead of connection. They understand each other, these two. Men who chose order because chaos was the only other option.
At nine, Nico stands. Thanks Jason for the dinner, Robin for the pie, Knox for the invitation. Shakes Ash's hand — thekind of handshake that means something passed between them, something about structure and service and the courage to tear it down.
Accepts a book from Silas, who had one in his jacket pocket the entire time, waiting for the right moment.
"What is it?" Nico asks, turning it over.
"The Remains of the Day," Silas says. "It's about a man who spent his life being useful instead of being alive."
Nico stares at the cover. Then at Silas. Then at the cover again. "You're not subtle."
"I'm extremely subtle. You're just perceptive." Silas goes back to his chair. "Read it."
At the door, Nico pauses. Turns back to the room.
"For the record," he says. "My heart rate is almost normal."
"Almost," Knox says.
"Almost is pretty good for a first dinner."
He leaves. I listen to his footsteps on the porch, the car door, the engine. The Hyundai pulling out of the driveway and turning toward the highway and the Pinewood Inn where he sleeps alone in a room. It sounds miserable.
My lion growls. Low, possessive, the kind of sound that starts in the chest and doesn't stop.
Not for long,it says.
I don't tell it to shut up this time.
* * *
I help Jason with the last of the dishes. Knox catches my arm on the way out of Ash's house.
"He's good," Knox says. Not a question. An assessment, alpha to pride.
"Yeah. He's good."
"You know what you're doing?"
"Not even a little."
