Page 115
I cross the lounge with two waters in hand and set one beside Lev without interrupting the conversation. He leans into my space, nuzzling my wrist before catching himself when Ash lets out a gagging noise loud enough to draw laughter from the nearby tables.
“You guys are literally Dusk Protocol,” Reef announces, still typing one-handed. “Lev is obviously a Sentinel-class, and Orien is the roguish bartender from the Ember District, and they don’t even get together until—”
He pauses to click something. “Actually, you know what, you’re speed running it. The game takes like forty hours minimum. Anyway, that’s how I know you’re soulmates.”
“I see we’re back in our dating sims era,” I murmur.
“Please shut up, Reef,” Ash says, sipping his coffee. “Some of us are trying to work.”
“That’s literally a Dusk Protocol cut scene,” Reef fires back, already pulling it up on his handheld. “Chapter seven. Ember District. The Sentinel says that exact thing to the bartender, and it’s like, the moment you know they’re endgame.”
Ash flips him off while Lev takes a drink of water, and I drag my thumb across my Marks on the back of his neck.
The touch has become automatic now, and Lev relaxes with a sigh.
From his seat at the table, Ash observes the interaction over the rim of his coffee cup before muttering, “Disgusting.”
Since I’ve caught him more than once, cuddled up with Rowan in quiet moments I wasn’t meant to witness, I ignore his commentary.
Reef snorts. “You’re just jealous because nobody looks at you like you’re their Ember District bartender.”
He pauses just long enough to let the sting land before amending, “Well. Rowan does, but that’s different because you’re literally endgame. That’s a Dusk Protocol thing. The Sentinel would commit homicide over a missed meal, and everyone agrees it’s the most romantic part of chapter six.”
Lev lets out a long sigh. “Can we get back—”
“Talking about how the Sentinel skipped the morning debrief because the bartender wore him out?” Reef continues, not looking up from his screen. “It’s literally chapter eight. And before you say anything, Dusk Protocol has a ninety-four percent accuracy rate on relationship outcomes. I have a spreadsheet.”
Lev’s cheeks flush, but he doesn’t deny it. A month ago, he would have changed the subject or found some way to redirect. Now, he rolls his eyes and pulls Reef back to the conversation at hand.
“I’m thinking we should post the tournament sign-ups on Sunday instead of Saturday,” he says, turning his laptop to show Reef the analytics. “People are more likely to check their phones at home when they’re coming down from a weekend out.”
I lean on the table, close enough that my knee brushes Lev’s leg beneath the table, and his body shifts toward mine, responding without conscious thought.
“You should come,” Reef says, looking up at me. “Both of you. Next Friday’s tourney. Kain’s calling it ‘Noob Slaughter’ which is offensive on like, three different levels, but he’s paying for pizza so…”
Reef shrugs. “And Lev promised.”
“I did not,” Lev protests. “I said I’d consider—”
“I’ve already got you signed up,” Reef interrupts, turning his handheld to show us.
Sure enough, Lev’s name appears on the list of entrants, paired with mine.
“I’m guessing this is your way of getting more drinks to the station,” I say.
Reef’s expression turns triumphant. “You’re the designated runner. Which makes you—”
“A glorified beer girl,” Ash finishes, earning himself a poke from Reef’s stylus.
The stage lights shift from blue to amber as the singer finishes her set with a flourish, the crowd’s applause washing over us.
Across the room, Ghost tips his chin for me to come over.
I signal that I’ll be right there.
He nods once and turns to serve the next customer.
Around us, conversations pick up as the music changes, the room filling with the thrum of a dozen different voices layered over the sound system.
