"I've heard promises before." Her voice comes out barely above a whisper. "They don't usually mean anything."
"Mine do."
Her eyes search my face. Looking for the lie, the angle, the trap. I let her look. Let her see whatever she needs to see.
Finally, she exhales. Not agreement. Not trust. Just... something loosening.
"Okay."
One word. Almost nothing.
But from her, tonight, it's everything.
seven
Cole
"Ireorganized the whole file structure last night because somebody saved the Sacramento data in the Portland folder." Vanessa does not look up from her laptop. "I'm not naming names. I'm naming Jax."
"In my defense," Jax says, tipping his chair back on two legs, "folders are a social construct."
"Folders are the reason civilization functions," Vanessa responds.
"Bold claim from someone who names her hard drives after Star Wars characters." Jax seems on the verge of tipping his chair over, but he never does.
"Han has never let me down. Unlike some people at this table."
My chair faces the door. Back to the wall, twelve feet from the nearest exit. Morning light cuts through the angled blinds, pale bars falling across the table.
Kade stands at the head, folder flat, watching the wall-mounted monitors cycle standby images. Asher sits two seatsdown with his tablet angled away from everyone—old habit, even older paranoia. Jax sprawls now, with his leg already bouncing. Damian occupies the seat across from me, grey eyes tracking the room without moving his head. Xander leans back, arms crossed.
Vanessa is still setting up, laptop open, presentation loading on the wall-mounted screens while she fixes whatever Jax broke in her file system. Her fingers haven't stopped moving since she sat down.
One empty chair.
Jax glances at it. "Remy running late?"
"Family thing." Kade doesn't elaborate. "He'll get briefed later."
Jax nods once. His leg keeps bouncing.
Footsteps in the hallway. A deliberate pace, professional heels on hardwood.
The door opens. and Angelina enters with coffee cradled between both palms, shoulders set, chin level. Courtroom posture transplanted into a room full of people who solve problems her courtroom cannot touch.
Jax half-rises, all California charm. "Saved a seat for the pretty judge."
"Thanks." She pulls out the chair three seats from mine. A deliberate gap. Not looking at me.
Jax catches my eye, grinning. I give him nothing. His grin widens.
Of course she's not looking at me. Two nights ago I told her she was mine and she slapped me hard enough to draw blood. Last night I promised to hurt the man who made her flinch.
Neither conversation was a comfortable one.
I watch her eyes move as she settles. Door first, noting the exit she just walked through. The windows. Bodies at the table. Back to door.
She is counting exits the way I would.