The Line Between Smoke and Flame
Calla’s POV
The conference room smelled of lemon cleaner and tension.
It was too bright. Too sterile. And too full of people who wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Calla sat three seats from the end of the long glass table, a notepad in front of her that she hadn’t touched. Her hands stayed folded in her lap, still and cold. She could feel Jules across the table watching her—like she wasn’t sure if she should intervene or stay the hell out of it. Everyone else had decided on the latter.
Trent’s seat was conspicuously empty. But Cassian was there.
And he was furious.
Not visibly—he was too well-trained for that—but she saw it in the way his shoulders held tension like a loaded spring. In the clipped tone of his voice. Along the way, he didn’t glance once in her
