"Yeah?"
"Thank you for knocking."
"Thank you for waiting."
"I would have waited longer."
"You wouldn't have had to."
He presses closer. I feel him smile against my chest.
The radiator clanks. The building settles. Somewhere downstairs, Mango is asleep on a windowsill or a barstool or wherever she's decided to claim tonight.
Nico falls asleep in minutes. I listen to his breathing even out, feel his heartbeat slow against my ribs. My lion is quiet. Just present. Content. The deep, permanent satisfaction of an animal that found what it was looking for and has no intention of letting go.
I close my eyes.
The spring pokes my kidney. I don't move.
Chapter 22
Nico
I wake up alone.
Ezra left before sunrise. The bed is cold on his side but his pillow smells like bar soap and I press my face into it for approximately four seconds before I decide that's pathetic and get up.
The spare room looks different in daylight. Smaller. The dresser has my clothes folded inside it. I unpacked last night, before Ezra knocked, because I can't sleep in a room with a full suitcase, which is a thing I've never examined closely and am not going to start now. My laptop is on the dresser. Silas's book is on the nightstand. My phone is charging.
Morning sounds come through the walls. The clink of a mug from the kitchen. The low murmur of a voice, Knox's, the bass register that carries even through plaster. A lighter voice responding, Toby. The smell of coffee drifting under the door.
This isn't a hotel. There's no front desk, no continental breakfast, no key card to return. This is a building where people live, and I'm one of them now, and I need to walk down a hallway and down some stairs and sit at a counter with people who heard me get fucked last night through walls that were not designed for the level of privacy this situation required.
I shower. The bathroom is shared — one for all bedrooms on this floor, small, the kind of bathroom that has one person's unremarkable no scent shampoo and another person's extensive skincare collection and now my toiletry bag on the shelf Ezra cleared for me while I wasn't looking. Another piece ofarchitecture rearranged without announcement. Outlet, room, shelf. He keeps making space.
I dress. Jeans, the only pair I packed. The navy sweater. I don't own casual clothes in the quantity this situation requires, which is a problem for another day.
I walk down the hallway. Down the stairs. Into the bar.
Knox is at the counter with coffee. Toby is next to him, eating toast, reading something on his phone. Ezra is on his stool with tea. Silas is at the far end with a book and a glass of water.
Everyone looks up when I appear.
Toby smiles. "Morning! There's coffee. And toast. Jason dropped off muffins from Robin but Silas already ate two, so there's only four left."
"Three," Silas says, not looking up from his book. "I ate three."
"You ate... Silas, those were for everyone."
"They were blueberry. I don't control my actions around blueberries."
I pour myself coffee. I sit at the counter next to Ezra, who gives me a look that is carefully neutral and completely insufficient for hiding the fact that his ears are slightly pink.
Knox drinks his coffee. Looks at me. One look.
It's not hostile. It's not judgmental. It's not even knowing, in the way that implies gossip or amusement. It's just acknowledgment.I know. I heard. You're here. That's the situation.A full conversation in one glance, delivered over the rim of a coffee mug by a man who has turned brevity into a martial art.
"Morning," Knox says.
