So I pushed it open.
Without waiting.
Inside, the room was low-lit and cool, the soft scent of old paper and whiskey wrapping around me like a memory. Archie was perched on the edge of his desk, long legs stretched out, glass of something dark in his hand.
Mathieu sat in the leather armchair across from him, one ankle propped on the opposite knee, head angled slightly like he was in the middle of saying something important. Comfortable, but serious.
Both turned when the door opened.
Theybothlooked like I’d just caught them red-handed, not guilty, exactly, but intense.
Wary.
Too quiet.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, voice flat but controlled. “But I figured whatever this was, I should be in the room.”
Rachel stepped in beside me and shut the door behind us with a softclick.
Archie smiled, slow and deliberate. “Hey babe, just in time.”
Mathieu stood immediately, hands open at his sides, brows drawn with concern. “You okay?”
I didn’t answer him yet.
I looked at Archie instead.
And waited.
Archie didn’t blink.
Didn’t move, either.
He just sipped his drink like we were interrupting a dinner party instead of a strategy session. The amber liquid caught the light, and I wondered for a beat if it was the same bottle he cracked open the night he told me he didn’t trust easy, but he trusted me.
Did that mean anything anymore?
I stepped farther into the room, keeping my eyes on him. “What’s going on?”
Archie set the glass down on the desk with a quietclink, then folded his hands in his lap like a man preparing to deliver a lecture. “We were having a conversation.”
“And?”
“I wanted to get to know your friend a little better,” he said evenly, like this was just standard protocol. “Given the… circumstances.”
I turned to Mathieu. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, stepping forward, his gaze softer when it landed on me. “I’m fine. Archie was being… thorough.”
I looked back at Archie. “Thorough,” I repeated. “That your new word for intimidation?”
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “He’s the one who sat down, sweetheart. I just asked questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
Mathieu exhaled through his nose, not annoyed, just tired. “About school. Family. Intentions. That sort of thing.”
Rachel made a sound behind me like she was choking on invisible champagne.
