Fated in New Orleans

4

Rhea woke up with the faint stiffness that came from falling asleep in a chair that was never meant for comfort. Her neck popped when she straightened, and the laptop still balanced on her knees slid off and thunked onto the floor.

Salem didn’t even flinch.

She was slumped sideways in her chair, one hand still resting on the keyboard, the other hanging limp at her side. The monitors still cast their glow over the room, lines of code running endlessly — and the faint smudge of exhaustion around her eyes said she hadn’t stopped until her body forced her to.

Rhea rubbed her face, blinked blearily at the clock. “Hell, it’s almost six.”

She stood, stretching, and walked over to where Salem sat, lips quirking faintly at the stubborn woman’s half-awake mumble of protest.

“Don’t even start,” Rhea said softly, prying the keyboard out of her hands. “You’re done for the night. Or morning. Whatever this is.”

“M’fine,” Salem mumbled without opening her eyes.

“Nope,” Rhea said, guiding her gently toward the couch she’d just vacated. “You’re runnin’ on fumes and caffeine. Go horizontal before I make you.”

Salem tried for a glare, failed spectacularly, and muttered, “Bossy.”

“Takes one to know one,” Rhea said, tugging a throw blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over her.

By the time she turned back to the monitors, Salem was already breathing evenly, the tension finally sliding off her shoulders.

Rhea sat down in the chair, cracked her knuckles, and scanned the code scrolling across the screens. “Alright, sweetheart,” she murmured to the system, “let’s see what trouble you’ve been hiding.”

⸻

An hour later, the door opened again.

River stepped in first, followed by Miles and Beau, all three carrying the faint scent of morning dew and fresh patrol air. They paused at the sight in front of them — Salem, fast asleep on the couch, one arm hanging off the edge, the blanket half-slid to the floor.

Miles lifted a brow, lips twitching. “Well, I’ll be damned. The machine powers down.”

“Don’t you wake her,” Rhea said without looking up from the screen. “She finally crashed after two straight nights.”

Beau leaned against the doorframe, quiet grin softening his usual edge. “Girl’s got grit.”

“Grit’s one word,” Rhea said dryly. “Stubborn’s the better one.”

River stepped closer, gaze landing on Salem. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth — not amusement, but something steadier. Respect, maybe. Or recognition.

She looked different like this. Without the armor of sarcasm or focus. Just… human.

Rhea caught the look and smirked. “Careful, Alpha. You keep starin’ like that, she’ll start charging rent.”

River didn’t look away. “Just making sure she’s breathing.”

“She’s breathing,” Rhea said, clicking through the data stream. “And snoring. Barely. It’s kinda cute, not that I’ll tell her that.”

Miles snorted quietly. “God help us when she wakes up and hears y’all said that out loud.”

Beau crouched beside one of the lower terminals. “You got anything new off the trace?”

“Some,” Rhea said, sipping from the mug that said Don’t Talk To Me ‘Til Code Compiles. “She left me a hell of a breadcrumb trail. Whoever breached the system knew their way around network shadows, but she’s smarter. The firewall’s rebuildin’ in layers now. Give it another few hours, and we’ll have a signature ping.”

“Good,” River said, folding his arms. “You two make a solid team.”

Rhea shot him a tired grin. “Don’t tell her that. She’ll say I’m gettin’ soft.”

“I heard that,” came a muffled mumble from the couch.

They all froze.

Salem cracked one eye open, glaring half-heartedly. “And if y’all’re talkin’ about me, I better smell coffee.”

Miles chuckled. “She’s alive.”

Rhea pointed toward the mug warmer. “Left some for you, cher. But only if you promise not to touch my system for another hour.”

Salem groaned, sitting up, hair mussed and voice rough with sleep. “You’re bossy when you’ve had sleep.”

“Someone’s gotta balance the chaos.”

River’s gaze lingered on her again — just long enough that Rhea noticed, and her grin turned wicked.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed under her breath. “Balancin’ chaos, sure.”

Salem shot her a look. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, too late,” Rhea said, spinning back to the screen. “You drool in your sleep, by the way.”

Miles laughed outright, Beau smothered his grin, and River had to cough to hide his.

Salem grumbled, grabbing her coffee. “I hate all of you.”

Rhea’s grin widened. “You love us.”

“Not before caffeine,” Salem muttered, taking a sip — and despite her grumbling, the corner of her mouth twitched like maybe, just maybe, she did.