Page 78 of Mane Rival in Store

They’re terrifying. They’re magnificent. If they ever combined forces permanently, civilizations would tremble.

Her phone buzzed.

Oliver: How did the lion council go? Did your boyfriend roar at the mean lady? I NEED DETAILS.

Dekel—who had apparently been added to a group chat she didn’t remember approving—responded before she could.

Dekel: No roaring. Verbal engagement only. The alpha delivered a five-sentence defense of your sister that made the senior councilwoman sit down mid-argument. I’m having it framed.

Oliver: THIS IS THE GREATEST SHOW ON TELEVISION AND IT’S NOT EVEN ON TV.

Sybil: I’m pulling up with food. Someone let me in. Also, Oliver has been refreshing this chat every thirty seconds for two hours. I’m concerned about his productivity.

Oliver: My productivity is FINE. My sister is dating a lion king who has council meetings. Productivity can wait.

Breezy: The door is unlocked. Bring the food to the back office. We’re planning a sting operation.

Oliver: A STING OPERATION???

Sybil: Oliver. Phone down. Now.

Lark pocketed her phone. Looked at Rune, who had moved from the board to the imaging results on the workstation monitor, explaining Cross’s technical signatures to Breezy with a focus that made his face young and unguarded—the collector beneath the king, the nerd beneath the crown.

She touched his arm as she passed. His hand caught hers—brief, warm, a squeeze that lasted two seconds and said more than the five-sentence council defense he’d delivered that morning.

“We find Leif’s operation.” She counted on her fingers. “We set up the buy. I make the introduction through my network—I have three contacts who’ve worked the rare edition market in Brooklyn and one of them has almost certainly crossed paths with the supply chain. We move in seventy-two hours.”

“You’re not going in alone.” His voice carried the register shift—lower, the command tone he used with the council. But his thumb traced the inside of her wrist, and the contrast between the protective growl in his words and the tenderness in his hand was the whole contradiction of Rune Sterling in a single moment.

“I’ll have a full security team. Breezy on comms. Dekel on perimeter.” She held his eyes. “And you, ready to go full apex predator if anything goes sideways. Which it won’t.”

“You’re asking me to let you walk into a criminal operation.”

“I’m telling you I’m the best person for this job and you know it.”

The tension in his jaw said no. The respect in his eyes said yes. The hair, rising at both temples, said the lion has CONCERNS.

“Seventy-two hours.” He exhaled through his nose. Released her wrist. “I want Dekel’s team on every exit. Comms check every five minutes. And if anything—anything—deviates from the plan⁠—”

“You storm the castle. I know.” She grinned. “Very on-brand for a king.”

Sybil appeared in the doorway with takeout bags, surveyed the command center—the board, the laptops, Breezy’s tactical expression, Rune’s protective stance, and Lark’s grin.

“I brought sushi.” She set the bags on the desk. “And sparkling water. And a salad for Rune because Oliver said—and I am quoting directly— ‘the lion man probably eats elk or raw fish or whatever Vikings eat.’ I chose arugula instead. I hope that’s acceptable.”

Rune looked at the salad. At Sybil. At the salad again.

“Thank you.”

“He’s trying to decide if he should be offended,” Lark stage-whispered.

“I’m not offended.”

“His hair is offended. Look at the left side.”

His hand went to his hair. The left side was, in fact, standing at a defiant angle.

Breezy uncapped the sushi. “Eat. Plan. Then we make calls.” She pointed the chopsticks at Rune. “Welcome to the operation, Your Majesty. Lark runs point. I run logistics. You run security. And if your hair could maintain a consistent altitude for the duration of the briefing, that would be professionally appreciated.”