I lean back, exhale slowly, and let my eyes drift between them—not the tablet, not the evidence.
Them.
Orion, control wound tight like a blade sheathed too deep.
Silas, quiet danger wrapped in stillness.
They’re both watching me like I’m a problem they don’t regret.
And something in me—sharp, stubborn, done with shrinking—decides I’m finished acting like I’m lucky to be here.
I’m not lucky.
I’m necessary.
I shift in my chair, letting my knee brush Silas’s—deliberate this time. Not an accident. Not a tease.
A question.
His gaze drops. He stills.
He doesn’t move away.
Orion’s fingers tighten subtly around mine—still restrained, still measured, but the control in it feels like pressure against a fault line.
I force my brain back to the table. “What exactly are my brothers holding
