She gestured to the pot on the counter. I poured myself a cup with hands that weren't quite steady and sat down across from her.
Over the past few weeks, Mireya had become one of the few people at Obsidian I could tolerate for extended periods. She didn't push. She didn't pry. She noticed everything but only spoke when it mattered. I appreciated that more than I knew how to say.
"Long morning?" she asked.
"Complicated morning."
"I saw you and Dr. Reed in the OR earlier." She sipped her coffee, her expression neutral but knowing. "You work well together."
"We used to work together a lot."
"I gathered that." She was quiet for a moment. "For what it's worth, everyone's noticed he's different around you."
I stared at my coffee. The liquid was dark and bitter, and I wrapped my hands around the cup just to have something to hold. "Is that good or bad?"
"Neither. Just interesting." Her phone chimed. She glanced at it and smiled, her eyes brightening. "Riven's asking if I want lunch. You should join us."
“Riven? You mean, the…” I started.
“Owner? Yeah. We’re kind of together.” She smiled sheepishly.
"Oh! Okay,” I said. “I should probably catch up on charts."
"You should probably stop overthinking and eat food." She stood, tucking her phone into her pocket. "Come on. You need a break, and I need a buffer so Riven doesn't spend the whole meal talking about hospital budgets."
I followed her to the cafeteria because arguing required energy I didn't have.
Riven was already there, holding a table near the windows. He rose when he saw Mireya, and his expression transformed. The controlled, commanding demeanor I'd seen in meetings disappeared, replaced by something unguarded. More open.
Then his gaze shifted to me, and the warmth retreated. Not hostile. Just careful. The polite distance of someone who knew exactly who I was and had decided long ago where his loyalties lay.
"Dr. Karras." He extended his hand, his grip firm and brief. "Mireya mentioned you might join us."
"I hope that's alright,” I said. “And, Riven, drop the formalities.”
"Of course, Calla,” he replied.
He pulled out Mireya's chair first, his hand brushing her shoulder as she sat down. With me, he simply gestured to the empty seat across from them.
I didn't blame him. Cassian was his best friend. Whatever version of our divorce Riven had witnessed or pieces he'd helped Cassian put back together afterward, I was the woman on the other side of that story.
Civility was more than I had any right to expect.
"Cassian mentioned you're making excellent progress on the protocol," Riven said, his tone perfectly neutral. "He's impressed with your work."
I blinked. "He talks about me?"
"When the subject comes up." Riven's expression gave nothing away, but Mireya's hand found his under the table, a small gesture I almost missed. A warning, maybe. Or reassurance. "He gets focused when he cares about a project."
A project. The correction was deliberate, I was sure of it.
I changed the subject, asking about hospital expansion plans and budget allocations—anything to redirect the conversation away from dangerous territory.
Riven obliged. His answers were thorough but clipped, offering information without invitation to continue. Mireya carried most of the conversation after that, bridging the silences I created and Riven didn't bother to fill.
By the time lunch ended, I understood exactly where I stood.
Riven would be professional and civil. But he would never be my friend or forget whose side he was on.
