Page 87 of Shadow

“Nice try, but ‘zyx’ isn’t a word, no matter how much you insist,” Daphne had said last night.

“It could be a word. Maybe it’s Latin,” Destiny had argued.

“It’s not Latin. It’s you trying to use your Z tile for fifty points.”

They’d both laughed.

Watching them, Asher had realized Daphne was good at this. At making people comfortable. At creating normalcy in abnormal situations. At being kind without being patronizing.

She made his coffee exactly right. Every morning. Without asking.

The first time, he’d thought it was coincidence. The second time, observation. By the end of the first week, he’d realized she’d memorized his preferences.

“You don’t have to do that,” he’d said one morning.

“Do what?”

“Make my coffee.”

“You stay up. I nap through the morning shift. It’s the least I can do.”

Huh.

She hummed while she cooked breakfast. Off-key. Unconscious. He still had to figure out what song it was. And he would.

She was funny. Dry wit that caught him off guard. Deadpan delivery.

Yesterday morning, Roger had complained about the lack of bacon.

“We’re out,” Daphne had said.

“Then get more.”

“Okay. I’ll just leave the safe house, expose our location, risk everyone’s safety, and run to the grocery store because you want bacon.” Pause. “Or you could eat the eggs and toast and be grateful you’re alive.”

Roger had eaten the eggs.

Asher had hidden a smile.

But she was kind. Small gestures. Covering Roger with a blanket when he fell asleep on the couch. Making Destiny’s favorite tea without being asked. Checking on Mark Sullivan’s recovery every time they saw Renee.

“How’s he doing?” Daphne had asked yesterday.

“Better. Still has nightmares about the explosion. But better.” Renee had smiled. “Your husband saved his life, you know.”

Daphne had just nodded. Deflected. Changed the subject.

She was competent. At everything. Cooking, security, tactical assessment, reading people. Never flustered. Never panicked. Just steady competence that made their partnership feel effortless.

This morning, the coffee maker had broken. Just died mid-brew.

Daphne had assessed the situation for thirty seconds. Then grabbed her phone. Twenty minutes later, Ruthie had appeared with a spare coffee maker and two cups of fresh coffee.

“Crisis averted,” Daphne had said, handing him a cup. Still perfectly made.

“How did you⁠—”

“Ruthie mentioned she had an extra one last week. I remembered.” She’d shrugged. “Problem solving.”