Theo's POV
Dinner smelled like actual comfort — garlic, herbs, and that faint buttery heat that makes you instantly forgive someone for anything they've ever done wrong. Zaire set down the last dish with the precision of a man placing an artifact in a museum, while Kaiden was still sulking because his "help" had been demoted to "sit down and stop touching the knives."
Seraphine was laughing — not her polite, client-safe chuckle — but something warmer. More real. She'd kicked off her heels, tucked one leg beneath her on the chair, and was sipping wine like she'd finally decided she didn't need to keep up her armor in this kitchen.
"Alright," Kaiden said, stabbing a fork toward the platter. "Before we dig in, I think it's only fair we each share the most humiliating story we've got. Level the playing field."
"Level the playing field?" Sera arched a brow. "You mean hand me ammunition for later?"
"Exactly," I said. "Glad we understand each other."
Zaire gave Kaiden the kind of look you give a toddler about to run into traffic. "Don't start something you can't finish."
Kaiden smirked. "Fine, I'll go first. Once, I accidentally tranquilized myself during a job. Wrong pocket, wrong dart."
Sera nearly choked on her drink. "You what?"
"Yeah," Kaiden continued, shameless, "I woke up three hours later in the client's panic room, drooling on a priceless rug. Best nap of my life."
"That explains so much," I muttered.
Zaire was next — though he tried to play it cool. "One time, I had to take over kitchen duty for an entire military outpost because the chef got food poisoning."
"That's not embarrassing," Sera said.
"It is when you realize I didn't know how to cook rice properly yet."
The look on his face was so flat, I couldn't stop the laugh. "You mean—"
"Yes. Glue. I made glue."
Sera's shoulders shook, and she glanced at me. "And you?"
I sighed. "Fine. I once got locked inside a supply closet during a stakeout. For six hours. My comms died after the first hour, and the only thing in there was a bag of marshmallows. So if you've ever wondered why I hate marshmallows—"
"You poor thing," she said, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.
We all dug in after that, conversation flowing easy. It wasn't like the boardroom, where every word had weight. Here, it was just… people.
Halfway through, Kaiden leaned back in his chair and said, "Alright, your turn, Valak. Tell us something ridiculous about you."
Sera tapped her fork against her plate, pretending to think. "I once had to chase a wedding cake down the street."
We all stopped chewing.
"It was a very expensive cake," she added. "The delivery guy didn't lock the van door properly. Sharp turn, cake slid out, box popped open, and I found myself sprinting after it in four-inch heels."
"Did you catch it?" I asked.
"Yes. But we still had to rotate it so the guests didn't see the dent."
The laughter that followed was easy and genuine — the kind you don't plan.
When the laughter faded, the room softened into a quieter hum. I glanced at her over my wine. "How did you manage to build all this? From nothing?"
Her eyes flicked to mine — a pause, just long enough to feel deliberate.
"Define 'nothing'," she said lightly. "I started with a laptop, a secondhand desk, and a very unhealthy caffeine habit. The rest was… just stubbornness."
It was the kind of answer that was half truth, half smokescreen. But there was something in her tone — the way her fingers traced the rim of her glass — that told me the real story was heavier.
Zaire caught it too; I could see it in the way his gaze lingered on her. But neither of us pushed.
Kaiden leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with the same curiosity he'd been holding in all day.
"Alright, sera… where's the tail?"
She didn't even blink. "It's tucked away to avoid unneeded attention."
That earned a pause — not the amused kind, but the kind where everyone at the table exchanged a glance without saying a word. Concern. Quiet, but there.
"Jack?" Zaire asked, voice low.
Her fork stilled for just a second before she resumed eating. "The salad dressing could use more pepper," she said instead, as if that was the end of it.
It wasn't, but none of us pushed. Not tonight.
---
The plates were cleared, wine glasses still half-full on the table, and we'd migrated to the couch and armchairs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Zaire was stretched out in one of the armchairs, Kaiden was sprawled like he owned the place, and Seraphine… she was quieter now. Still present, but something in her had gone from warm glow to dim ember.
It started small — the subtle shift in her posture. The way her hand briefly pressed against her side as if smoothing fabric, but the movement was too precise. Too quick.
Then it hit.
Her whole body tensed, just for a breath, before she straightened again. No sound. No gasp. But I saw it — the flicker of discomfort in her eyes, sharp enough to cut.
Zaire caught it too. His voice was immediate, even, but edged with a thread of command.
"Are you hurt?"
Kaiden leaned forward instantly, his earlier laziness gone. "What's wrong? Tell me what to do. Point me at something, someone."
I stayed where I was, watching her. She wasn't shrinking back — if anything, she was holding herself taller, as if the right posture could make whatever was clawing at her go away. But her hands were clasped too tightly in her lap.
"It's fine," she said.
It wasn't fine.
Zaire's brow lowered, scanning her like she was a mission brief. "Is it the food?"
Her eyes flicked up — a quick spark of humor through the strain. "No. The food's delicious. Better than I deserve."
The smile didn't last. The pain stayed. I could see it in the subtle tightening of her shoulders, the way she drew in a slow breath like she was measuring how much she could take before she had to excuse herself.
It was the kind of hurt that didn't crumple you, but wouldn't let you forget it was there. Persistent. Petty. Like it had its own personality and was smug about its victory.
Zaire shifted forward, Kaiden's leg bounced like he was ready to leap into action, and I… I just kept my eyes on her, letting her know without a word that I wasn't buying the "fine" act.
The room had gone still.
And that's where it hung — Seraphine, flanked by three men who were now watching her like she was a live wire. Her jaw was set, but her hands betrayed her.
She wasn't okay. And for the first time since we'd met her, she didn't bother pretending otherwise.
"It's nothing I can't handle."
Her voice was steady, her smile carefully measured.
But in the space between heartbeats, I caught it—
the slight hitch in her breath, the way her knuckles whitened against her glass.
She didn't sound like she believed it.