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Kain checks his watch and nudges me. “We should head out. I have work in the morning.”

Rowan’s phone buzzes, and he checks it with a frown. “Duty calls.”

He stands, and Ash rises with him, a reflex more than a choice.

“Good work on the tournament, Reef.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t spend it all on energy drinks.”

“Too late,” Kain says.

As they disappear into the club’s darker corners, Lev scoots into their vacated spot to take up more of the bar.

“Back to the Dusk Protocol playthrough. We should structure it by chapters to match the game’s narrative beats. We can run a poll for which companion to prioritize⁠—”

“I’m romancing the Bartender.” I sneak the fork into Kain’s cherry bowl, and this time, he lets me take one. The sugar hits my tongue, artificial and perfect. “And I’m not playing it for engagement. I’d be playing it regardless.”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.” Lev’s phone is still out, his notes app filling. “We could⁠—”

“We’re leaving,” Kain says. “If you two get into this now, we’ll be here all night, and I have work in the morning.”

He stands, one hand on my elbow, drawing me up from the booth.

I twist to keep Lev in my sights. “We can have a planning session⁠—”

Kain steers me toward the exit, his hand warm on the small of my back, and I’m still gesturing at Lev over my shoulder, mid-sentence, mid-argument, the sub-par band’s music following us out into the night.

Cool air hits my cheeks, bringing on a shiver, and Kain reaches out to pull my hood up against the chill.

I hum a thanks and hurry along beside him, already planning the Dusk Protocol playthrough in my head.

Lev is wrong.

I absolutely have a structure.

13

The scrape of a chair leg on the floor breaks my concentration.

Kain rises from his desk, stretching until his shoulders pop, the sound loud in the quiet office. “It’s dinner time. What do you want?”

I don’t look up from my handheld. My field of eggplants is minutes from harvest. After this batch, I’ll have enough for my kitchen remodel.

My thumbs twitch, ready for the final tap. “Stackers. I want a Sweet Stack and chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks with extra marinara. And if you eat any of my fries, I’m replacing your guitar strings with rubber bands.”

Kain comes to stand over me, his toes depressing the side of my beanbag chair. “I meant what do you want that’s here.”

“You offered Stackers.” I circle my avatar around the field, willing time to go faster. “I want a Sweet Stack.”

A slow breath escapes him, heavy with a patience wearing thin. “That was weeks ago, Bunny, when we were coming home from touring Lantern Key.”

“So?”

“The fries will be cold by the time I drive back.”

“Then take an insulated bag.” I bring the screen closer to my nose.

One more percent.

“Do you want to come?” He crouches beside me. “We can eat it fresh.”