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“I’m ordering from you.” I gesture toward the bowl with the fork. “One cherry, please.”

He takes the utensil from my fingers. “No.”

Amusement glints in Ghost’s mismatched eyes, one brown and one icy blue. A nape guard peeks out from beneath the collar of his shirt, but his scent is muted, almost neutral, the air after rain. An Omega who has removed himself from the whole give-and-take of secondary gender dynamics. It’s unsettling and comforting at the same time.

A man in a charcoal suit approaches Ghost from the direction of the entrance. He leans in to murmur something, and Ghost steps aside for a moment of privacy.

Rowan’s head cocks a fraction toward them without otherwise reacting.

When the man finishes, Ghost’s body angles toward Rowan in question, and our boss dips his head in approval.

Ghost leads the man to the bar, where he pulls a leather-bound ledger from beneath the counter.

The ledger is Ghost’s domain, the Blue Note’s running record of favors rather than money. Problems brought to us move through its columns from Open to Active to Pending, until whatever is owed on both sides is Settled and the account gets archived.

It’s different from the database Kain maintains in our basement. Kain keeps the information we collect. Ghost tracks what we’ve agreed to do with it, and what people owe in return.

Rowan turns back to the table. “So, what have you been up to since the competition, Reef?”

“Taking it easy.” I flex my fingers. “Letting my hands recover. Streaming Grave Circuit. Upgrading the kitchen in my farming sim. The usual.”

“We’re taking Ash to the range tomorrow,” Lev says. “You should come.”

Ash grimaces over the rim of his coffee. “Knowing how to shoot is now a requirement for being married to Rowan.”

“It’s a requirement for living with me,” Rowan corrects. “You need to know what to do if you ever have to pick up one of my guns.”

“Such a romantic.”

“I still think Lena should join us,” he rumbles, bringing up the baby sister Ash has been raising for years.

“Not happening.” Ash lifts his coffee mug. “She’s going to get into a good school and move far away from here.”

I glance up at Kain.

“Only if your hand feels good enough,” he says.

I flex my fingers again. Shooting doesn’t bother them the way rhythm games do. The recoil travels differently, and there’s no sustained rapid movement.

Rowan started dragging all of us to the range years ago because he’s firm about everyone knowing how to defend themselves. I kept going because I enjoy it. VR is good, but no headset gets everything right. A real gun kicks through my arms, burnt powder fills my nose, and each shot gives immediate feedback.

Reality is better.

Ash turns to me. “You shoot?”

I frown at him. “Obviously.”

“He’s annoyingly good,” Lev adds.

“It’s easier than Critical Extraction. Real targets don’t spawn behind you.”

Rowan stares at me.

“I know,” I say. “People do. Targets don’t.”

“Just remember that distinction.”

Ash laughs into his coffee.