I shift, letting the warmth of the blankets sink into the places that still ache from last night. “Link… I don’t want to be angry all day. I don’t want to be weak either. I just want to feel normal.”
He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Then decide that you are. Because normal for you isn’t fragile. It’s fire.”
His words settle in my chest, unmistakably true.
Linkin snaps the notebook shut and tosses it onto the side table like he’s officially concluded a very serious meeting. “All right,” he says briskly. “Enough emotional coaching. My rates double if you keep crying.”
“I amnotcrying.”
He pushes to his feet anyway, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck as he looks in a mirror and eyes the state of his hair with open disdain. “C’mon. Walk me to the bathroom. If I’m awake before noon the day after a concert, I require moral support.”
I stand, stretching the stiffness from my back as I breathe in the familiar comfort of his space. It grounds me as we head toward the hallway together.
My socks slide softly over his rug while Linkin yawns wide enough to unhinge his jaw. He mutters about needing a gallon of coffee and divine intervention in equal measure, and I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my mouth. He’s ridiculous in the most reliable way.
At the bathroom doorway, he stops. “‘Leste?”
“Link?”
He turns, and the humor fades just enough to let something sincere through. His eyes soften, steady and certain. “Whatever happens today, you’re ready.”
Nodding, I remind him, “I know.”
And I do. Lucian may be here soon, but there’s something he needs to remember. He’s stepping intomyworld. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. There’s a familiar steadiness settling into my spine now, heat gathering where doubt tried to live.
It’s time to breathe fire again and remind him exactly who I am.
And then—because Linkin cannot help himself—his expression shifts again. Like a switch flipping from emotional support human to absolute menace.
“Ooh,” he says, eyes widening with sudden inspiration. “Wait. Important question.”
I squint at him. “…Linkin, whatever it is, the answer is ‘no’. I donotlike that look.”
He lifts a finger. “How do you feel about ateeny, tinyamount of chaos?”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
His grin turns maniacal. “I think I should shower inyourrig this morning.”
I blink. “Why the hell would you do that when we both know your shower products cost twice what mine do?”
He taps his lip, thoughtful. “Well. Maybe because someone might be arriving for his shiny new job and accidentally catch me exiting your shower. Hair wet. Shirtless. Possibly humming something sensual.”
“Link.”
He presses a hand to his chest like he’s deeply wounded. “Think of it as establishing dominance.”
I choke on a laugh. “Whose dominance? Yours or mine?”
“Exactly.”
“You are absolutely not showering in my rig.”
“Picture it, ‘Leste.” He gestures wildly. “He walks up, you open the door, steam wafts out,Istroll past in a towel like I own the place—”
