Page 20 of The Mourning Throne
Even now, patchy pink and brown hair glowing under the lights, he looked out of place—a child playing dress-up in an adult’s world. One wrong move and he’d bolt.
Morgan had said it himself.
Be the honey if you want. You play pushover better than I ever could.
Lex could do that. He’d done worse.
“Hi,” Lex said, sliding onto the empty bar stool with a practiced grin. “Are you a shrinking violet, or just trying not to be noticed?”
The guy startled a little, glass wobbling in his grip.
Up close, his features were almost doll like—soft mouth, long lashes, the kind of unintentional charm that made people either protect you or pick you apart.
“I—what?” he asked, blinking fast.
Lex winced. “Did that come off too strong? I’m out of practice.”
That got a laugh. Nervous. Quiet. More exhale than sound.
Lex offered a hand across the bar, palm up in peace.
“I’m Lex. This is Morgan.” He tipped his chin toward where Morgan had leaned one hip against the counter, arms crossed. Too damn silent andintense. A cat watching a mouse.
The hesitation was palpable but—finally—the guy reached over, his hand light in Lex’s.
“Ollie,” he said, voice soft. No accent. “Sorry, I just—you’re not who I thought would be here.”
Lex gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Ollie shrugged, curling back into himself. “You seem friendly.”
“I’ll take friendly,” Lex snorted. “Do you come here often? It’s my first time.”
“Mm.” Ollie nodded. He clutched his drink again as if it anchored him. “I like it here. It’s close to where I study.”
A beat passed. Then, quieter, “UCL.”
“UCL?” Lex asked.
“University College London.”
“What’re you studying?”
“Humanities.”
“Good for you. I dropped out second semester.”
“I love school,” Ollie mumbled. “I want to go for my Masters.”
Lex nodded, slow enough that it didn’t spook. “I like the real world more than school. Less tests and bullshit. More action. We’re here on business, actually.”
“I’m not ready for the real world yet. I should be, but…”
It was almost comfortable. Almost normal. Lex wasgetting somewhere. He could see the stress starting to bleed out of Ollie.
“Do you need a cigarette?”
Morgan’s voice slid in from nowhere—flat and quiet and unmistakable.
