CELESTE
By the third day of planning, I had almost convinced myself that the tension between Knox and me was manageable. My ego hissed every time I remembered how he rejected me. I, in response, thanked him curtly, spoke to him clinically, avoided looking at his mouth whenever possible, and pretended my blood didn’t heat every single time he was close to me.
We were bent over a large map laid out across the table, which highlighted territorial zones, arrival routes, security checkpoints, and resource distribution. All of it needed to be hammered down before the summit.
“This section here,” Knox said, tapping the north quadrant, “will house the diplomatic envoys. We need a—”
“—buffer of neutral ground,” I finished, leaning over him to point at the exact location.
I didn’t even notice h
