His jaw’s tight.
Her mouth’s set.
Neither of them looks like they’re in this conversation for fun.
Then Stella shoves lightly at his chest—more warning than force—and slips out from under his arm.
She doesn’t run.
That’s not her style.
She just walks away with her shoulders stiff and her bag high on her shoulder and every inch of her body saying not here, not now.
The second she’s gone, I hop off the table.
Jace catches my tape roll.
“Drew—”
Too late.
I’m already crossing the room.
Vale turns before I get there. He reads motion like a man who’s spent his life one step from collision. I stop in front of him. Close enough that if one of us breathes wrong, it becomes a problem.
“What the hell are you doing, Vale?”
His face closes instantly.
Not surprise.
Not guilt.
Just that cold prince shut-down I hate on sight.
“None of your business.”
I laugh once.
Short.
Ugly.
“I think it is.”
His eyes narrow.
“Say what you came to say.”
“Stay away from Isa.”
That lands.
Not because it shocks him.
Because now we’re finally not pretending.
He shifts his weight once, shoulders squaring.
