I choke on my water. “Asset?”
“You have access,” she says, slicing her chicken with surgical precision. “I have visibility. Mutually beneficial.”
“Mutually beneficial,” Cole echoes, grinning. “That’s what we’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?” Talia asks, her shoulder brushing Declan’s. Soft voice. Steel eyes.
“A suicide pact,” Declan says.
“Calculated risk,” I counter. “Odds favor us.”
“Do they?” Clara asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Surrender loses by default. This is strategy.”
“And you like the odds?” Adrian asks.
“I control them.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. Another Whisperer hit. Another admin ping. I don’t need to read it to feel the weight.
“You’re vibrating,” Zoë says.
“Background noise.”
“It’s always background noise with you.”
“She’s right,” Dante adds. “Last time you vibrated like that, we ended up in the Dean’s office.”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
“You punched a wall,” Cole says.
“The wall blocked my exit.”
The table goes quiet—then laughter breaks loose. Tension cracks.
For a moment, despite the storm outside, this feels normal. Us.
The moment thins fast.
My gaze drifts back to Zoë. She eats with measured focus. She fits—with them, with this.
That’s the problem.
Once someone fits, walking away gets harder.
“You good?” I ask quietly.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Why—worried I can’t handle pressure?”
“I’m worried you’re starting to enjoy it.”
Her eyes meet mine, dark and steady. “Maybe I am. Maybe I like being the only person in this room who doesn’t flinch around you.”
“I don’t flinch,” Cole says.
“You should respect me,” I tell him.
