This is not a greeting.
This is a Zane Morgan wellness inspection disguised as casual conversation.
“Yes,” I say.
He looks at me.
I sigh. “A muffin.”
“Not enough.”
“I also had coffee.”
“That’s still not enough.”
“I’m sensing a theme with you people.”
He takes two of the poster tubes from my arms before I can protest. “It’s because you forget your body exists when you’re busy.”
“That is a rude and deeply accurate thing to say to me.”
His mouth shifts like he wants to smile but doesn’t fully commit. “Yeah.”
We head inside together. The Hollow is all movement, sound, and warm light, even in the middle of the afternoon. Someone has propped the front windows open just enough to let in the mountain air. It smells like pine, fryer oil, beer, fresh paper, and the weird little electric crackle of something good building.
Ryder is near the bar, talking to a supplier with that focused, impossible stillness of his, one hand braced against the polished wood, head slightly bowed as he listens. He looks up when I come in.
His eyes move over me once, quick and assessing in a way that should probably annoy me more than it does, then drop briefly to the clipboard in my hand, the tubes Zane is carrying, the fact that I’m clearly operating on momentum and misplaced optimism.
“You’re overdoing it,” he says.
I don’t even slow down. “Hello to you too.”
“That wasn’t a hello.”
“I noticed.”
“It was an observation.”
“Mm. Super charming one.”
Finn appears from nowhere like a golden retriever with criminal potential, sliding into step on my other side and peering at the clipboard over my shoulder. “What’s our crisis level?”
“Manageable,” I say.
He squints. “That sounds fake.”
“It’s not fake. It’s just… active.”
“That sounds more fake.”
I turn the clipboard so he can’t read it. “Go be useful somewhere else.”
He puts a hand to his chest. “Wow. After all I’ve done for this establishment.”
Ryder doesn’t even look at him. “She means it.”
“Traitors,” Finn mutters, but he falls into step behind us anyway.
