Nova
The Cold War was starting to feel brittle on Day Three. I'd successfully established the rules: no engagement, no reconciliation, no proximity. Killian was respecting the silence, moving around the huge mansion like a phantom in his own home.
It was mid-morning, and I was risking the communal kitchen for breakfast. I grabbed a bowl and loaded it up with yogurt, some dried tropical fruit, and a huge scoop of the granola. I knew the risk was low in a managed house, and my craving for something crunchy was high.
I sat down at the far end of the marble island and started eating, completely ignoring the man five feet away who was scrolling through his tablet and sipping coffee.
Then, about halfway through the chew, I felt it. A strange, familiar roughness. A nut.
My heart did a franti
