“Don’t,” I warn, voice tight.
He raises both hands in mock surrender, but I don’t wait for more. I turn on my heel and stomp toward the bathroom, dignity leaking behind me in semi-skimmed footprints.
Boomerang doesn’t even follow—too busy lapping up the spill like this is his breakfast offering.
Traitor.
“Stopped sulking yet?”
Cameron’s voice cuts through the room like a blade, smooth and smug. It rattles straight down my spine.
No, I have not. I might be milk-free and shower-fresh, but the emotional whiplash? Still very much present. So instead of acting my age, I turn away from him, sulking.
“We need to go through the plan—me, you, Talia,” he says, like he’s ticking boxes. “So eat something, and meet us in the office in twenty.”
I don’t respond. Just keep my eyes glued to the window, tracking birds flitting through the trees like they’ve never once been humiliated in a kitchen. Must be nice.
Like hell I’m eating anything he cooked. He thinks he can throw a few sausages on a plate and I’ll forget the milk-slick floor, the cracked skull, the Olympic-level condescension? Absolutely not.
But to get to the office, I have to pass the kitchen. And because the universe hates me, I do glance.
Perfectly cooked sausages. Fluffy and golden scrambled eggs. Toast at that ideal midpoint between crisp and soft. The plate is still warm. The smell? Criminal.
My stomach lets out a low, traitorous growl.
I ignore it. Keep walking. Chin high. Morals intact. Hunger be damned.
Let the man enjoy his smug culinary masterpiece. I’ll be in the office, starving—but victorious.
They’re already in the room, locked in a tense discussion—voices low and clipped. But the second I step through the door, the energy shifts and both of them fall silent.
Cameron leans back like he hadn’t just been mid-argument, but it’s Talia who holds my attention.
She’s not what I expected.
I’d pictured someone harder, more brute-force than finesse. But she’s beautiful in a way that feels engineered for intimidation. Every inch of her looks like a warning.
Her eyes—hazel, but edged with something flinty—land on mine and hold. Not just lookingatme, butthroughme. Like she’s sifting through layers I didn’t give permission to expose.
Before I can decode it, she lifts a hand to tuck a pale strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a shadowed undercut. A contrast to the polished blonde, like her whole aesthetic is built on contradiction.
I suddenly feel like I showed up to a chess match with a deck of Uno cards.
“You ate fast,” he mutters, eyeing me like I’ve committed a federal offence.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I say, shrugging with the kind of apathy I hope masks the growl in my stomach. Timing, traitor. Pick better timing.
He rolls his eyes and turns back to his laptop, unimpressed with my stand-off. Talia, without missing a beat, slides her chair to the side and gestures wordlessly for me to sit.
I drag one over. It screeches across the tile like I’m summoning demons instead of joining a briefing.
Not my most graceful entrance—but he doesn’t even flinch. Just clicks something on the screen like I’m white noise at this point.
Honestly? Fair.
“So, we’ve got confirmation. Your name’s on the list.”
Cameron’s voice is level—too level—and just like that, it’s real. The threat. The danger. All of it snapping into focus like a lens finally locking on.
