What the hell?
Gray’s entire body goes still. His silver-gray eyes lock on me, and I watch his nostrils flare slightly.
Oh.
Oh.
His jaw tightens, and the look he gives me is so heated I have to look away.
My face is on fire.
I should have worn pants. Dammit.
When I risk glancing back up, Theo’s still watching me—slower, more deliberate than before. Like he’s taking his time cataloging every reaction.
I grab my coffee mug just to have something to do with my hands.
Wes immediately steals a pancake straight off the plate and earns a swat from Mairen.
“Patience,” she scolds.
“I’m starving,” Wes protests, mouth full.
“You’re always starving,” Theo mutters, but there’s no heat in it.
Stellan appears in the doorway, Seth beside him. Gray catches Stellan’s eye and tilts his head toward me—some silent communication passing between them.
Stellan’s gaze shifts to me, travels down, then back up.
One elegant eyebrow arches.
Seth smirks outright.
I want to sink through the floor.
The kitchen fills with noise—teasing, laughter, the clatter of plates being passed around. It feels normal. Safe.
Like we’re just people having breakfast.
Not survivors preparing for war.
Jace flips a pancake—and it sticks to the ceiling.
Everyone freezes.
Then Mairen bursts out laughing, and the rest of us follow—loud and helpless and real.
Jace stares up at the pancake, then at the spatula in his hand.
“I have no idea how that happened.”
“Magic,” Gray deadpans.
“The distracting kind,” Jace mutters, but he’s grinning.
I laugh so hard my ribs ache, and it feels like the first real breath I’ve taken in days.
The sound mixes with everyone else’s until it’s impossible to tell who started it.
