Thirty Nine
Christian adjusted the cuffs of his shirt with idle precision, eyeing his reflection with the dissatisfied air of a man who always looked good but never quite cared. His thoughts drifted ahead of him, toward the night’s carefully orchestrated chaos. The timing, the venom, the politics. Behind him, Callen stood at the wardrobe shrugging into his Knight Commander uniform. The dark jacket fit him too well, the sharp lines suiting someone who’d spent his life on training fields rather than in politics. He looked imposing, regal… and utterly miserable. “So,” Christian began lightly, brushing away an invisible wrinkle from his sleeve, “how was your honeymoon?” The mocking lilt in his voice made it obvious he wasn’t asking sincerely. Callen allowed the smallest smile. “It was… much needed,” h
- Writer
