MACEY
Zinna was glaring daggers at us the moment we stepped through the door. Her eyes were sharp, her posture stiff—like she’d been standing there rehearsing this exact confrontation. Great. Thursday just got worse.
“Why in God’s name were you late, Carter?” she snapped, her voice crisp enough to slice through glass.
Oh, we were back to surnames. Wonderful. Always a good sign when your boss starts addressing you like a misbehaving intern instead of a functioning adult.
I forced a small, nervous smile, trying to come up with something that sounded halfway reasonable. My brain scrambled for words, but before I could open my mouth, Damien stepped forward like it was second nature to rescue me.
“Her car broke down,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and unbothered. “I saw her on my
