They all knew.
Hook barked out a laugh, leaning forward to unlace his skates with theatrical slowness.
"Speaking of ruining lives—you think those girls outside realize I'm unavailable emotionally but very available physically?"
"They don't care," Jeremy said without looking up.
"Exactly my point."
In the corner, Gang Lu sat motionless except for the slow, methodical slide of stone against steel. Sharpening his skate blade with the kind of focus most men reserved for surgery or murder.
He said nothing.
He never did.
But his presence anchored the room in a way words couldn't.
I participated just enough to keep the mask intact. Laughed when expected. Nodded at the right moments. Let them believe I was still one of them—still the untouchable star who took what he wanted and discarded the rest.
They didn't need to know the truth. That I hadn't discarded anything. That I was keeping her.
Hades elbowed me mid-thought, breaking through the careful distance I maintained. "You're quiet."
I wiped sweat from my jaw with the back of my hand, buying time I didn't need. "Just thinking about going home."
The words landed exactly as intended.
Silence stretched for half a beat.
Then—grinned.
Slow.
Knowing.
Approving.
"Fuck yeah," Hook muttered.
Jeremy's smirk deepened, eyes glinting with something darker than amusement.
Jafar turned from the mirror, tilting his head like a predator scenting blood. "Good for you."
Even Gang Lu paused mid-stroke, blade suspended, gaze flicking toward me for one brief, unreadable moment before returning to his work.
They understood.
This team didn't thrive on morality or restraint.
It thrived on hunger.
On taking.
On winning at any cost.
They recognized the darkness in me because they carried their own.
Different shapes.
