Page 32 of Rook

“Thought you’d never wake up,” Oberon quips, sliding a mug across the counter toward me. It’s black coffee, no pretense—just how I need it.

“Feels like we got our asses kicked by more than just a game,” I say, taking a tentative sip. The coffee burns all the way down, jolting me further awake.

“That’s what happen when you stay up all night,” he teases, but there’s no bite in it.

Just the usual banter that keeps our little world spinning.

“Try reminding me next time I’m awake and wide-eyed at four in the morning,” I add before taking another gulp of the bitter brew.

The day’s just begun, and already it tastes like a shot of reality straight to the heart. The world outside hasn’t even had the decency to turn up the brightness yet. Inside, it’s just me, Oberon with his bed-head hair, and the sound of our morning rituals filling the kitchen.

“Sleep okay?” Oberon asks, sliding another mug my way across the marble countertop. “You know…once you put the game down.”

“Better than okay,” I confide, resting back against the cool stone.

“Yeah?” He’s all casual interest, but I catch that quicksilver flash in his eyes.

“Rook and I kissed.” It comes out plain, like I’m talking about the weather or what’s for breakfast.

“Knew it.” Oberon’s eyebrows do this little dance towards his hairline, but his face is all smug satisfaction.

“Did you now?” I challenge, quirking an eyebrow of my own.

“Please. Sparks flying around you two? It was only a matter of when, not if.” His smirk grows as he sips his coffee, watching me over the rim of his cup.

A shrill tone cuts through the banter, jarring against the hum of the refrigerator and the soft clink of our mugs. The panel by the door lights up like a Christmas tree. My feet carry me across the room, curiosity edged with a razor-sharp wariness.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, fingers tapping the screen to pull up the cameras. “What now?”

Rook, hearing the alert, uncoils from the couch, clumsy with sleep. He pads over, bare feet silent on the cold tile, and looms behind me, his scent wrapping around me—earthy and familiar. I lean back just enough to feel the solid wall of his chest without making it a thing.

“Who the hell—“

My question dies on my lips, jaw going slack as the grainy image comes into focus. One figure stands out in the front seat of the first car, clear as day even through the lens of high-tech security—no mistaking him.

“Vance,” I breathe, a name that carries weight, a tremor of something I can’t quite name. Excitement? Dread? Both?

“Looks like it,” Rook confirms, voice steady as he takes in the scene playing out on the monitor. There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken words. “But why?”

“Good question,” I reply, though I know neither of us has the answer. Not yet. But Vance showing up unannounced, when we were about to go to Oasis without his knowledge…

“Guess we’re about to find out,” Oberon says, and there’s an edge to his voice.

Yeah…this isn’t good, that’s for sure.

“Jesus, that’s Vance alright,” Rook mutters as the figures on the camera become clearer. Vance is riding shotgun in the first car, silver-streaked hair catching the first light, eyes hidden behind dark shades even though the sun’s barely up. It’s a power move; it always is with him.

“Should we be freaking out right now?” Oberon’s voice cuts in, tense but controlled as he eyes the procession on the screen.

“Vance doesn’t do drive-bys,” Rook says, and there’s a hint of something like respect or maybe just understanding in his voice. “At least, not without calling ahead.” He’s already moving, fingers dancing over the security panel with a practiced ease that turns off the turrets before the tires crunch to a stop outside.

“Then what’s he doing here?” Oberon asks, and I wish I had an answer for him. I don’t miss the way his body angles slightly toward me, protective instincts flaring even though we’re not sure if there’s anything to protect against yet.

“Guess he’s about to tell us.” Rook’s gaze stays fixed on the monitor, watching Vance’s every move like it might give us some clue as to what the hell is going on. But Vance is as readable as a brick wall.

“Could be nothing,” I offer, trying to sound like I believe it.

“Or it could be everything,” Rook counters with a shrug that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The game is changing, the players making moves we didn’t see coming.

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