[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/oQUaULL.jpeg[/img][/center]

[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Tobias stopped outside the entrance to conference room 01. Calling a meeting made sense. They were all there for the same reasons, to try and get to the bottom of the disappearances, save the missing heroes, take down the culprits, etc. It was only logical to let everyone else in the tower know that Imogen and himself [i]actually[/i] managed to help someone. But he was never the person who called meetings and definitely [i]never[/i] stood up in front of everyone and said anything beyond what was expected of him. Public speaking, even to a handful of people, was enough to set his nerves on edge. He had to keep telling himself that it [i]was[/i] expected of him and that it [i]was[/i] necessary, if only to force his feet to move and his anxiety to settle into a slightly more manageable nausea. 

He inhaled deeply, staring at the grain of the pressboard door before slowly pushing it open for Bellamy to enter first. Luckily they were smart enough to arrive early so they weren’t walking into a room full of waiting and curious gazes. Instead they were met with a sizable, fairly run of the mill conference room. There was a large, long table in the center of the room with over a dozen chairs surrounding it. One wall was made of glass, looking out into the hall, another had a whiteboard that ran from one corner to the other, and then the far wall was floor to ceiling windows that butted up against the pool area outside the tower. 

Tobias propped the door open, only the subtle trembling in his fingers pressed against the wood betrayed the stoicism he presented, showing a glimpse of the anxiety and uncertainty that warred inside him. He spent longer than necessary securing the door before slowly making his way toward what was presumably the front of the room. His steps were slow and measured in sync with his breaths, subconsciously seeking control where he could find it in himself. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Bellamy, like something inside him knew the second he met her gaze she’d see his nerves and it’d make everything he was feeling multiply tenfold. He didn’t want to look weak, to her… or anyone else in the tower. He knew it was ridiculous and that anxiety [i]wasn’t[/i] a weakness, but no amount of logic seemed to keep his breaths steady or his hands from shaking.

Bellamy stepped through the doorway like she was crossing the threshold into something far larger than a conference room. It should have felt mundane, all clean lines and polished surfaces and the kind of impersonal functionality that belonged to meetings and schedules and ordinary people discussing ordinary things, but nothing about it felt ordinary to her. Not when every beat of her heart seemed to echo in the hollow of her ribs, not when the too neat chairs around the long table looked almost accusatory in their order, as if they were already waiting for someone more qualified than her to sit in them. 

She was acutely aware of the clothes she wore, Tobias’s clothes, still too big in the sleeves and shoulders, a quiet, humiliating comfort that made her feel even smaller somehow, and of the way the sandwich she’d forced down sat in her stomach like wet cement, heavy and wrong, threatening to crawl back up her throat if she breathed too sharply. The thought came unbidden and sharp enough to sting: [i]I don’t belong here.[/i] She was not a hero, not really, only the frightened daughter of one, a girl with powers that bucked and snarled when her emotions slipped out of hand, a civilian dressed in borrowed fabric trying to stand where people like Tobias were meant to stand with certainty and purpose. 

And still, traitorously, desperately, there was a part of her that wanted to ask them to help her anyway, to teach her, to make her into something less breakable and less useless, even as shame whispered that she had no right to ask for more from people already bleeding themselves dry trying to save the world.

She could not sit. The very thought of it made her skin feel too tight, so Bellamy drifted away from the table and the suffocating symmetry of it, her steps soft against the floor as she paced the length of the room in slow, restless lines. Each pass was a failed attempt to bleed the nervous energy from her body, but it only gathered more densely in her chest, coiling there until even her shallow breaths felt like work. She stopped by the wall of windows, gaze dropping instinctively toward the pool outside, bright blue and deceptively serene beneath the daylight, its surface untroubled and glimmering in a way that made something old and aching shift in her chest. 

For a moment she could almost remember what it had once felt like to move through water for the joy of it, to cut through the length of a lane with the clean certainty of her own body, muscles burning in a way that felt earned instead of panicked, chlorine on her skin and sunlight on the crown of her head instead of blood and rain and terror. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, hands tucking beneath her biceps as if she could physically hold herself together, keep the cracks from widening, and she let out a slow, shaky breath that fogged faintly in the air before she forced herself to drag it back under control. Behind her, Tobias’s silence was a presence all its own, steady, familiar already in a way that frightened her, and though she wanted to look at him, wanted to anchor herself in the sight of him the way she had been doing all morning, she could not quite bring herself to turn her head.

The quiet stretched long enough that it became another thing in the room with them, something taut and breathing between the two of them, until Bellamy found she could not bear it any longer. She swallowed against the nausea, fingers pressing more tightly into the sleeves bunched at her elbows, and searched desperately for something harmless, something small enough to say that would not crack open the larger fear sitting like ice in her lungs. [color=bdddff]"The pool looks nice,"[/color] she managed at last, voice soft and trembling around the edges despite her best efforts, the words almost absurd in the face of everything else but somehow all she had. 

Her eyes remained fixed on the blue water below, on the shimmer of reflected light, and her throat worked once before she forced herself onward, a little more quietly this time, as though confessing something fragile to the glass rather than to him. [color=bdddff]"I haven't swam in forever."[/color] The admission hung there, simple and small and yet weighted with far more than the words themselves, with all the versions of herself she had been before this, before she became a girl who fled through a window, before she learned how quickly a life could be split into [i]before[/i] and [i]after[/i]. She stayed facing the window because if she turned and saw Tobias, if she caught even a glimpse of the same nerves she could feel radiating off him in quiet waves, Bell feared she might either start crying or walk straight to him and tuck herself against his side like he was the only solid thing left in a world that no longer knew how to hold still.

Tobias was so lost in his own thoughts and panic that he almost missed Bell’s words beneath his pulse hammering in his ears and the speech he kept replaying in his head in hopes of lowering his stress. [color=796e9c]"Huh?"[/color] He raised his head, looking down the length of the table toward the windows where she stood. A second passed before her words finally registered. [color=796e9c]"Oh… yeah,"[/color] he replied softly, running the tip of his tongue along his molars. [color=796e9c]"I, uh…"[/color] He forced himself to draw in a deep breath, hold it for a beat, then released it steadily through his nose. [color=796e9c]"I used to swim in it a lot when I attended the academy. Some of us were hanging out around it last night, until…"[/color] His voice trailed off, not letting himself finish the thought as his hands fell to rest against the edge of the table and he hung his head. 

The guilt settled in quickly, relentless and nagging against the pit in his stomach that was already churning from nerves. [i]‘Until,’[/i] he repeated in his mind. Until Luke ruined the mood by dropping the news of Bellamy’s family heavily onto all of their shoulders, ruining the false sense of security and delusion as they all ignored the world and pretended it was ok to relax. Tobias wasted time sitting around a pool, catching up with old friends or trying to build some sort of camaraderie with new faces, all the while Bellamy was going through hell. The guilt made him more nauseous than his anxiety ever could. Maybe if he was smarter and not distracted he would have thought of the solution sooner. Twenty-four hours could have made all the difference… But that was twenty-four hours where he failed again, and he just barely managed to make it there in time. 

The kind, naive part of Tobias wanted to tell Bellamy she was free to use the pool whenever she wanted… Even offer to take her there later. But the guilty, serious part of himself wouldn’t speak the sentiments. If distracting himself for less than a day nearly cost her life, what would other distractions cost? He should be focusing on their goals, on finding the missing heroes or saving others before they disappear too. Yet, there was still the softer part of him beneath his solemn stoicism that would waste time in the pool if she asked, or share a drink with Magni… Because if anything, this all just showed how fleeting life truly was for them. [color=796e9c][i]Fuck.[/i][/color] Tobias sucked in a breath through clenched teeth while running his hands back through his hair. He needed to get his priorities straight, but they only seemed to get muddier with every passing minute.

Bellamy did not need him to finish the sentence to understand what lived in the silence that followed. It was there in the way his voice thinned at the edges and then disappeared entirely, in the way his hands found the table like he needed something solid to keep himself upright, in the angle of his head as though shame itself had weight enough to drag him downward. She could see it as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud, the ugly arithmetic of hindsight, the way his mind was already carving the night into neat, cruel pieces and assigning blame to every moment he had laughed, every breath he had taken beside the pool while she had been running through a living nightmare with her father’s bag clutched to her chest. 

For a few long seconds Bellamy only stared at the water below, at the bright blue surface laid smooth beneath the sun, its skin unbroken and shimmering with a serenity that felt almost obscene. It looked untouched, innocent even, while she knew better now than to trust how beautiful things could appear from a distance. Somewhere in another version of the world, maybe one where men with guns had never come through her family’s home, she could have imagined herself there too, curled at the edge of that pool with bare feet tucked beneath her, listening to voices and laughter drift warm into the evening. Instead, she had spent that same stretch of time trying to outrun the kind of terror that changed the shape of a life forever.

A breath left her, small and fragile, stirring the loose strands of hair at her temple as her fingers worried the bracelet around her wrist, rolling it back and forth against her skin with the compulsive rhythm of someone trying not to come apart in a room that had not yet even filled with witnesses. The metal clicked softly beneath her thumb, a tiny, nervous sound, and somehow that was what made the words feel possible. [color=bdddff]"It's not your fault,"[/color] she said at last, the sentence so quiet it was nearly only breath, but it settled into the space between them with more certainty than anything else she had felt all day. Saying it felt strange and right all at once, like easing a hand over a wound and finding it still tender but no longer bleeding. 

She turned from the window then, forcing herself to look at him fully, and the sight of him, all taut muscles and strained restraint, every line of him pulled tight as though he might shatter if one more thing landed on his back, made her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with fear. Tobias looked like a man standing on the edge of himself, as if given the opportunity he might very well throw his own body through the glass simply to escape the weight of expectation and the suffocating press of his own conscience, and Bellamy knew with terrible, immediate clarity that he was exactly the kind of person who would bleed himself dry before he ever admitted he was wounded.

Her left hand kept spinning the bracelet, thumb catching and releasing the metal while she crossed the room in only the smallest of ways, not enough to invade the distance he seemed to need, but enough that her voice would not have to strain to reach him. [color=bdddff]"I'm alive because of you,"[/color] she said, and though her voice trembled around the edges, there was no uncertainty in it, only the raw honesty of something she had not yet had the time to dress up into something easier to hear. [color=bdddff]"You couldn't have known until it was too late. None of it is your fault."[/color] She held his gaze for a few precious seconds, long enough for him to see that she meant it, long enough for her own pulse to stumble at the intensity of simply looking at him when he was like this, anxious and braced and so painfully, impossibly human beneath all that stoicism. 

Then her courage faltered, as it always seemed to when she was too honest, and her eyes slipped to the floor between them, to the pale gleam of polished tile instead of the face she was already learning was far too easy to read and far too difficult to ignore. The bracelet turned once more around her wrist, and Bellamy swallowed against the knot in her throat, knowing there was nothing she could say that would make him truly set the burden down, but hoping perhaps she could at least pry one stone loose from the mountain he kept insisting on carrying alone.

Tobias slowly looked up as the silence was broken by her quiet words. While his eyes lifted, he struggled to meet her gaze, instead focusing on the sleeves of the jacket he lent her, bunched around her forearms to keep from swallowing her hands as she idly spun her bracelet around her wrist. The fluorescent lights caught on the metal, small glints shining off the silver chain as her fingers ran along it in a self-soothing manner. He drew in a deep breath, running his tongue along the back of his teeth as he forced himself to meet her gaze, if for only a second or two. She was right, he knew it. But the thoughts persisted regardless. No amount of speed on his end would have saved Bellamy’s fathers, but he could have saved her a night hiding in the forest. He could have killed more of them or caught the sniper… Or a million other variations if he had only been faster.

[color=796e9c]"But I could have done more,"[/color] he replied quietly, rapping his knuckles against the table as his gaze fell to the wooden surface beneath his hands. 

[color=d6d6d6]"I see not much has changed in a decade,"[/color] Alfred’s voice swept through the doorway, warm and comforting like the morning sun slipping through the window and pooling across the floor. He slowly entered the conference room with a gentle smile and his hands lightly cupped in front of him. His attention slowly shifted from Tobias to Bellamy without losing an ounce of kindness in his expression or the grounding aura that seemed to permeate around him wherever he went. [color=d6d6d6]"Mr. Lehnsherr has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He succeeds at anything he sets his mind to, yet amidst his success, he only seems to focus on his errs."[/color]

He crossed the room, lightly resting a reassuring hand against Tobias’s shoulder with a smile that was both fond and gently chastising in its warmth. [color=d6d6d6]"He has yet to learn how to be kind… to himself."[/color] He gently squeezed the young man’s arm before letting his hand fall back to his side. 

Tobias quickly found himself surrounded by people who were determined not to let him disappear into his own thoughts. He sighed softly as a small, fragile smile broke through his thick shell and tugged at the corner of his mouth. His brows rose slowly with a small nod of his head, conceding to their gentle coaxing, if only for the time being. [color=796e9c]"Old habits, I suppose,"[/color] he mused sheepishly. His father had beaten into him the need for perfection and anything less than perfect was a failure. It was so integrally ingrained in him that it was almost impossible to ignore it. Even in his atonement, attempting to right the wrongs of his past, saving a life hardly made a dent when he could have done better. 

Alfred chuckled softly before turning his attention back toward Bellamy with the same level of fondness he reserved for every pupil that had trained at the academy. [color=d6d6d6]"It is a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Drake. I do hope your new living arrangements are satisfactory."[/color]

Bellamy startled at the sound of Alfred’s voice, her shoulders tightening before easing again almost immediately beneath the warmth of his tone. There was something almost unfair about how kind he was, how effortlessly he seemed to step into a room and soften all its harder edges, and when his attention settled on her she managed a smile that wavered at the corners like a candle flame caught in a draft. [color=bdddff]"It’s perfect, really,"[/color] she answered, and for all the tremor in her voice the words were true, the apartment was far more than she deserved, far more than she had expected after arriving here with blood under her nails and mud on her skin. 

But the memory of the bathroom rose hot and immediate in her mind, the shatter of glass, the terrible bloom of ice, the humiliating certainty that she had managed to destroy something so quickly in a place she had barely entered, and she shifted where she stood, rubbing her damp palms against the oversized sleeves of Tobias’s jacket before glancing down. [color=bdddff]"Though… if it isn’t too much trouble, is there any way to replace the shower glass with something a little more… temperature resistant?"[/color] The question came out softer, threaded with embarrassment, and her face flushed all the way to the tips of her ears as she ducked her chin. [color=bdddff]"I may have… underestimated how fragile it was."[/color]

Alfred brushed off the request as easily as he would if someone asked him to fetch them a cup of tea, with a gentle smile and a warm chuckle. [color=d6d6d6]"Do not fret yourself, structural damage is quite common here. These halls are accustomed to gifted individuals still learning how to control their abilities."[/color] He gave Bellamy a soft, reassuring touch to the shoulder. [color=d6d6d6]"I will look into it after the meeting."[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"[i]Ms. Drake?[/i]"[/color] Phil echoed as he crossed the threshold into the room with an equally stunned and confused expression. He studied the young woman for a moment or two before his gaze shifted to Tobias with a soft, exasperated sigh. [color=d6d6d6]"What is the point in having rules if no one follows them?"[/color] he huffed, more to himself than anything. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Considering Mr. Lehnsherr has never broken a single rule during his time at the academy, and this [i]particular[/i] infraction resulted in saving a life, I believe we can agree to look past his temporary lapse in discipline,"[/color] Alfred rebutted with a bright smile as he started walking beside the table toward the far end of the room. 

Phil hesitated for a moment, weighing his colleague’s argument before conceding with a small nod of his head. [color=d6d6d6]"Well done."[/color] While the compliment might have seemed forced or diplomatic in the plain way it was offered, his words were sincere and he was quietly impressed, even if he’d never admit it. They were all at the tower for a reason and Tobias was the first person to actually accomplish something. That was no small feat and while it was risky, and could have cost him his life, instead it spared another. It was the type of silver lining they all could use… [i]hope.[/i] 

Now that the reasoning behind the meeting was obvious, Phil turned his attention toward Bellamy and held out his right hand in a proper greeting. [color=d6d6d6]"Hello, Ms. Drake. I am Phil Coulson."[/color] He gave her a gentle but firm handshake. [color=d6d6d6]"I am sure Tobias has given you a proper orientation, but if you need anything do not hesitate to ask. Alfred, J.A.R.V.I.S. and I are happy to help."[/color] With that he nodded his head, then found his way toward the far end of the table where he settled into a seat beside Alfred without another word.

Phil’s entrance pulled her gaze up again, and whatever shy, fleeting amusement Alfred had managed to coax from her gentled into something sadder, more delicate, a smile touched by grief rather than humor. The name hit her like a soft echo from another life, one where her father had been beside her and warm and laughing, speaking in that offhand, familiar way people did when they mentioned old friends or respected colleagues, never imagining those names would someday become ghosts she would have to meet without him. Bellamy took his hand when he offered it, her fingers cool and a little unsteady in his grasp, and for a second the room seemed to narrow strangely around that small point of contact. 

[color=bdddff]"It’s… nice to meet you,"[/color] she said, her voice quieter now, the ache in it impossible to fully disguise. [color=bdddff]"My dad talked about you before. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name."[/color] Saying it made her chest tighten, made memory stir sharp and bright beneath her ribs, Bobby smiling over coffee, speaking with the easy affection of someone who believed there would always be time for future introductions, and she had to lower her eyes for a moment to keep the sting behind them from turning into something more obvious.

[color=ed1c24]"Do we all get a pass if we catch strays?"[/color]

Jim clicked his tongue as he tapped the fingers of his right hand on his leg in the doorway. He ignored the sharp glance from Phil, crossing the room to take a seat at the conference table. [color=ed1c24]"Did you manage to get any intel at least?"[/color] He asked more sincerely as he settled in, removing his trademark glasses from his pocket so he could at least get some work done while waiting for the show. [color=ed1c24]"Pick up any guns or hitmen? License plates? Anything?"[/color]

When Jim spoke, whatever fragile steadiness Bellamy had pieced together inside herself gave a small, ugly crack. She knew, rationally, that she was a complication, an unexpected variable, a civilian with too much grief and too little training, a girl who had arrived bleeding and frightened with powers she could barely keep from turning a bathroom into a winter grave. She knew she was not an asset, not yet, and perhaps not ever, but there was something about hearing it reduced to [i]stray.[/i] Tossed out so casually, so thoughtlessly, like she was some half-drowned thing Tobias had dragged in from the storm, that made her stomach pitch so hard the sandwich she’d forced down earlier turned heavy and revolting in her gut. 

Her gaze dropped at once to the table, to the grain in the wood, to anything that would keep her from seeing whether anyone else in the room agreed, and without thinking she shuffled the smallest step closer to Tobias, as if the pull of him had become instinctive already, as if standing near him might keep the word from lodging too deep. She did not greet Jim. She did not trust herself to speak at all, because if she opened her mouth she feared the shame might come out first, raw and humiliating and far too visible.

Tobias didn’t have to look toward Bellamy to notice the way she grew still and silent before drifting closer to him like he was the only shield between her and the sharp words from people like Stark. [color=796e9c]"[i]Stray?[/i]"[/color] The word came out confused and sharp like sour food on his tongue. Something about hearing it worded in such a way struck a cord with him. The thought of Helena and Bellamy and countless others being reduced to little more than helpless creatures needing shelter twisted uncomfortably in his chest. He drew in a slow, steady deep breath, knocking his knuckles once against the table before stranding up straight in a subtle way that placed himself in front of her without making a show of it. [color=796e9c]"She’s not an animal in need of rehousing. She’s a victim of the same assholes that took your father. Have some sympathy."[/color] 

His tone came out far more calm and measured than it had any right to be, only betrayed by the tensing of the muscle along his jaw. He liked to think of himself as level headed and better at tempering his emotions compared to others. It was because of that, and only that, that Tobias was able to bite his tongue before devolving into further sharp witted comments. [color=796e9c]"I don’t intend on repeating myself. So you’ll have to exercise patience… and wait for answers,"[/color] he answered Jim’s questions without looking over at him, instead keeping his gaze looking past everyone and out the window as he crossed his arms lightly over his chest. 

Some of the tension bled out of Bellamy so suddenly it almost made her knees feel weak. It came in the wake of Tobias’s voice, calm where it had every right to be sharp, measured where anger simmered visibly in the flex of his jaw and the set of his shoulders, and she felt the softest breath slip from between her lips before she even realized she had been holding it. There was something disarming about the way he did it, about how he stepped in front of her so subtly it might have gone unnoticed by anyone who did not already feel drawn to every small movement he made, like protection was something he offered instinctively rather than performatively. Her eyes caught, traitorously, on the tense line of muscle working in his jaw, on the rigid control threaded through every word, and for one embarrassing heartbeat her thoughts slid somewhere warm and entirely unhelpful before she mentally shook herself like a dog shedding water. 

Myla rounded the corner, stepping into the conference room with an ice pack held beneath the hem of her loose shirt against her freshly cauterized wound. The bruises that still lingered beneath her eyes and across her nose had faded from a deep purple to a sickly greenish yellow as evidence of her slow healing. Her free hand reached up and pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head and rested them along the bridge of her nose. Within the tower she had gotten used to not wearing them, but she noticed the shift in the building and sensed a new presence. People didn’t handle glassy white eyes that never quite made eye contact or seemed to stare too long. Sunglasses were easier and more comfortable for most. 

Her pace slowed, feeling the palpable tension among the gathered people as her attention shifted to the unknown woman standing toward the front of the room. Myla sensed the girl’s unease in the raised cadence in her heart beat, the subtle saltiness that permeated from the sweat that clung to her palms and the back of her neck, and the way she stood close to Tobias like he was the one thing holding her together. Myla should have taken a seat and said nothing, but because she was used to entering rooms full of strangers, she knew how daunting it could be. Like a gentle olive branch, she slowly approached, pinning the ice pack in place beneath her arm to free her right hand so she could extend it toward the woman with a gentle, patient smile. [color=962929]"Hi. I’m Myla,"[/color] she offered quietly with no expectation of reciprocation. [color=962929]"Sorry, cold fingers,"[/color] she added with a weak laugh as she rubbed her ice-cooled fingertips together.

Bellamy dragged a hand tiredly over her face, fingers pressing briefly at her brow as though she could smooth away the nausea, the embarrassment, the strange fluttering relief Tobias seemed to summon in her without effort, and when her hand fell away, there was suddenly another woman standing there close enough to make her blink in startled silence. Bellamy hadn’t heard her approach at all, and for a moment all she could do was stare, caught off guard by the softness in the woman’s voice and the easy patience in the hand she offered, by the sunglasses that hid her eyes and reflected Bellamy’s own pale, strained face back at her in warped miniature.

Feeling shy in a way that made her seem years younger than twenty-seven, Bellamy reached out and took the offered hand, her own cool fingers a little hesitant where they wrapped around Myla’s. [color=bdddff]"Hi,"[/color] she managed, but the word came out hoarse and thin, scraped raw by nerves and too little sleep, and she had to clear her throat softly before trying again. [color=bdddff]"I’m Bellamy, that’s okay,"[/color] she said, a wobbly little smile tipping at her mouth as she looked, briefly and curiously, at her own reflection in the dark lenses; pale cheeks, tired eyes, hair still not quite behaving, a woman who looked less like someone ready to join a team and more like someone who had survived a natural disaster by accident. 

There was bruising on Myla too, the bright purple shadows of healing damage peeking around the edges of her glasses and nose, and Bell’s first half formed thought was something almost absurdly mundane: [i]migraine? hungover?[/i] before the rest of her brain caught up and reminded her that maybe it was something else entirely. Bellamy’s smile grew just a fraction steadier as she added, [color=bdddff]"The cold never bothered me anyways."[/color] 

Theo entered the conference room only a few steps behind Myla, casual in the way only someone with far too much confidence and far too little sense of self preservation could be. He was half in the doorway and half still in the hallway mentally, attention split between the two bottles of water he was juggling in one hand and the text conversation with his mom open on his phone in the other. His thumb moved quickly across the screen, tapping out a reply with one hand the ease of long practice while the low hum of tension in the room met him like walking into the aftermath of a lightning strike. He didn’t need to look up immediately to know something had happened, voices had edges, heartbeats changed rhythm, the air itself seemed to hold that brittle stillness that came after someone said the wrong thing in a room full of people too exhausted to be polite.

Still, Theo strolled in like he was arriving late to brunch instead of a room full of superheroes and emotional landmines. He took a seat near where Myla had stopped, one ankle crossing loosely over the opposite knee as he finally glanced up just long enough to clock the general shape of the mess. Jim seated and sharp edged as ever, Tobias standing with that particular kind of rigid calm that looked like he was one sarcastic comment away from violence, a nervous new girl close to his side, and Myla, already somehow playing peacemaker despite the fact that she’d been half dead yesterday. 

A low whistle slipped from between Theo’s teeth as he finished his text, hit send, and tucked one bottle of water toward Myla’s reach, cracking the lid open for her, before flicking his screen over to a mind numbing game of Flappy Bird. The little yellow idiot on the screen immediately smacked face first into one of the green pip things. Theo squinted at it like it had personally offended him, then tapped restart with a long-suffering sigh. [color=feffb5]"Dude, you really suck at making friends,"[/color] he said lightly to Jim, not even bothering to look at the other man as he spoke, the words delivered with such easy, absent sincerity they somehow landed harder than if he’d aimed for cruelty.

His thumb tapped again. The bird lived for maybe two pipes this time before dying in a way Theo felt was deeply unfair. He barely reacted, because his tone stayed loose, almost airy, like he was just filling dead air rather than stepping squarely into it. But beneath that easygoing exterior, he was cataloging everything in the way he always did. The way Bellamy stood close to Tobias like gravity had quietly rearranged itself around him, the tightness in Tobias’s jaw that said he was angry but holding it in by force, the carefully neutral tilt of Phil’s silence, the way Myla’s voice had gone soft when she introduced herself like she was offering the poor woman an umbrella in a storm. Theo knew that kind of tension too well. Knew what it looked like when someone got made to feel small in a room they already didn’t know how to stand in. 

So he let his attention drift back to the game, shoulders loose, expression bright and unbothered, because if he was going to call Jim out, he may as well do it the way he did most things—lightly, with a joke, and a little bit of sass. [color=feffb5]"Hmm, maybe it’s just teams you don’t jive with."[/color] Theo continued as if Jim had opened the topic for debate, not giving the other man a chance to cut in quite yet. He glanced up at Jim, head tilting to the side as if he was considering something deeply important for a moment, before he looked back down at his phone. [color=feffb5]"I could see you doing edgy solo work. Have you stood on a rooftop in the rain recently, looking out at the city and wondering where it all went wrong? Totally fits the prickly cactus vibe you seem to be going for, very Batman of you."[/color] His tone was full of mock approval, while his thumb tapped lazily on the phone, only half paying attention as the bird died again, little bastard. 

Jim rolled his eyes, settling back in his chair while he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should have taken a breath, recollected himself, and ignored the comments. Letting rage overtake one’s sensibilities was usually reserved for physicists in purple shorts, and not the only person in the room with multiple doctorates. Unfortunately, Jim always had a hard time letting things lie, especially when the one throwing shade was too busy with the most braindead game of a decade prior. [color=ed1c24]"That’s ridiculous,"[/color] he muttered under his breath, attempting to brush aside the comment without another word. Unfortunately, biting his tongue wasn't in his blood. [color=ed1c24]"If I want advice on spandex and bad jokes, I'll give you a call, Spider-boy."[/color]

The regret was almost immediate. Jim almost winced at his own words, a subconscious tick from being around his sister again. He knew she would disapprove, and June would be annoyed that he was already putting their side project in jeopardy. He let out a sigh, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to set aside his pride for even a moment. [color=ed1c24]"Sorry,"[/color] he whispered, knowing damn well the spider and the devil could hear him. His tone was surprisingly sincere as he settled his nerves, his eyes actually focusing on Theo, Myla, Bellamy, and Tobias. [color=ed1c24]"No, you're right. Teamwork isn't my thing,"[/color] he conceded, his fingernails digging through his joggers and into his thighs under the conference table to keep himself from launching into another verbal assault.

Theo’s thumb paused mid tap, the little yellow bird on his screen hovering in one frantic, idiotic flutter before promptly smashing into a pipe and dropping out of sight. For a second he just stared at the game, jaw shifting faintly, as if deciding whether it was worth the effort to restart it, or whether Jim’s voice had just irritated him enough to ruin even the world’s dumbest distraction. The apology was there, yes, thin and sincere in its own awkward way, but it came on the heels of a jab that felt all too familiar in a room already crackling with the aftermath of someone else being made to feel small. Theo had spent enough years in masks and chaos to know the difference between someone who was bad at teamwork and someone who weaponized that fact like it excused the collateral damage.

When he finally looked up, it was with that same easy, almost careless calm he wore like a second skin, except now it had edges. Not sharp enough to cut deep, not unless you were paying attention, but bright enough to sting. [color=feffb5]"With the way you keep verbally abusing members of the team [i]you[/i] called to this tower,"[/color] he said lightly, voice almost conversational, as if he were pointing out the weather instead of the obvious rot in Jim’s attitude, [color=feffb5]"I’m starting to wonder if maybe [i]you’re[/i] the one in the wrong place."[/color] His gaze held Jim’s for one beat longer, just enough to let the words land exactly where they were meant to. Then Theo gave the smallest shrug, looked back down at his phone, and tapped the screen to restart the game, dismissing him completely as the bird flapped back into existence like Jim had already ceased to be worth the energy.

Meanwhile, Myla lingered near Bellamy a moment or two longer. The Batman comment nearly pulled a chuckle from her. She quickly turned her head away so her expression was hidden from the majority of the room—or more specifically Jim—as she tucked her lips between her teeth to force the laughter deep down. Her hand slipped back beneath the hem of her shirt, holding the ice pack in place against her ribs as if the cold could steal the tickling humor from her lungs.  She took a second, clearing her throat and tucking her hair back behind her ear to regain composure. 

While she had been trying to ignore any and all of Jim’s comments, when he rebutted with a snide jab toward Theo, Myla’s expression sharpened, brows creasing faintly while the muscles along her neck and shoulders visibly tensed. Her head turned a fraction toward them, but she quickly tried to swallow whatever words threatened to spill out and temper her anger. She refused to be baited into lashing out. It wasn’t worth it. A soft sigh slipped from her lips as she let out the breath she had been subconsciously holding and turned her attention back to Bellamy. She leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a whisper that was only loud enough for her—and maybe Tobias—to hear. [color=962929]"Don’t worry. I’m his least favorite person in the tower, so you’re safe."[/color] Her smile was small and a little self deprecating, but still friendly where it mattered. [color=962929]"Just ignore him. That’s what I [i]try[/i] to do."[/color]

She went to take a step away when the soft, muffled shifting of Bellamy’s feet—in only socks, absent shoes—caught her attention. Her head lowered and tilted slightly as her hearing attuned to subtle swish of fabric with the girl’s every movement. It was a tracksuit, simple and light, and several sizes too large. Myla didn’t know what happened, not yet anyway, but it was apparent that the poor girl was in a strange new place without a single comfort of her own. She couldn't even begin to imagine how scary and unsettling it would be, standing in a foreign tower, surrounded by unfamiliar faces weighing your worth before knowing your name without the tiniest shred of comfort. No friends. No family. Not even a shred of clothing that was her own. 

The decision settled before it had a chance to grow. It took no more than a second or two  for Myla to size her up and come to the conclusion that they were likely similar in stature, or at least close enough. [color=962929]"You should come to my penthouse after the meeting,"[/color] she added, with a small nod of her head up toward the rest of the tower. [color=962929]"I packed plenty of clothes. I can lend you some."[/color]

Bellamy’s mouth parted before she could stop it, surprise flashing plain and unguarded across her face at the offer. For a second she simply stared at Myla, caught off guard by the easy generosity of it, by the matter of fact kindness threaded through the words as if lending clothes to a near stranger in borrowed sweats and socks was the most natural thing in the world. It hit somewhere unexpectedly tender, somewhere already bruised raw by too many hours of feeling out of place, and she had to swallow once before she could make her voice work around the sudden tightness in her throat. 

[color=bdddff]"I—thank you,"[/color] she managed, the words coming out a little strangled at first, then steadier when she tried again. [color=bdddff]"That would… really help."[/color] Her gaze flicked, almost involuntarily, toward Jim then. Not long enough to be obvious, just a brief, uncertain glance that carried more realization than accusation. There was still hurt sitting sour in her stomach, still the sting of being reduced so carelessly, but Myla’s whisper reframed it in a way Bellamy hadn’t been able to on her own. He was just… like that. Sharp edged and careless with his mouth in a way that made collateral damage of whoever happened to be standing nearest. It did not make it kind, and it did not make it pleasant, but it loosened something in her all the same, the quiet, ugly fear that she alone had somehow earned his contempt.

[color=962929]"Sure. No problem,"[/color] Myla gave her a small nod and a parting smile before stepping away. She slowly rounded the conference table toward Theo, doing her best to try and ignore the tension that still hovered in the room like a thick humidity. It was the first good morning she had, probably since her father went missing, and she was desperately trying to keep herself out of any drama for one day… just one single day. Her fingers lightly brushed against Theo’s arm in a silent greeting as she used her foot to pull her chair out enough for her to settle into it with a soft sigh. She made a small, playful show of grabbing the water he set aside for her and took a sip. She didn’t say anything or acknowledge Stark’s apology or whatever else he said, feigning ignorance as she slowly twisted back on the cap. After setting the bottle down on the table, she leaned back in her seat, resting the ice pack in her lap for a moment to give herself a break, while her other hand gently found its way to Theo’s knee in a subtle bid to bridge some of the space between them. 

Theo felt her before he really looked at her, the quiet shift of the chair beside him, the soft exhale as she settled in, the familiar warmth of her hand resting against his knee like a secret tucked between all the sharp edges in the room. It was such a small thing, almost laughably subtle compared to the personalities currently occupying the conference room, but it cut through the tension better than any joke he could have made. His mouth curved instantly, the hard edge that had briefly sharpened his features melting away as he turned his head toward her. There was something achingly grounding in the sight of her there, bruised and stubborn and pretending very hard not to notice the nonsense still hanging in the air, choosing instead to make a show of her water bottle like they were anywhere else but here.

Without a word, Theo let his phone dip loosely in one hand while the other reached out, fingers slipping over hers where it rested on his leg. He threaded their hands together easily, thumb brushing once over her knuckles in a small, absent stroke that carried more tenderness than he could have ever fit into words. His smile deepened, soft and crooked and meant only for her, like the whole room had briefly narrowed down to the space between their joined hands. Then he gave her fingers the faintest squeeze, quiet affection offered in the middle of chaos, as if to say [i]I’m here[/i] without needing to speak at all.


When Myla moved away, Bellamy lowered her eyes to the floor for a moment and let out a small breath, one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, as if she could gather herself back into something smaller and less conspicuous before the room filled any further. The conference table suddenly seemed less like a trap and more like a place to anchor, and after only the briefest hesitation she crossed to the chair closest to where Tobias stood. She pulled it out carefully, the roll of the wheels against the floor soft and controlled, and settled into it with a quietness that felt almost instinctive now, angling herself just enough that her body turned toward him rather than the rest of the room. It was subtle, enough that she could pretend it meant nothing if anyone noticed, but it let her keep him in her line of sight without having to face everyone else head on, and for the moment that mattered more than pride. Bellamy curled inward a little as she sat, shoulders rounding, one hand drifting back to the bracelet at her wrist while the other tucked into the sleeve swallowing her fingers, but her gaze remained fixed on Tobias like a lifeline, as if the mere shape of him there might be enough to keep the nausea from rising and her nerves from splintering under the weight of too many strangers, too many eyes, too much everything.

Myla subconsciously adjusted in her seat, moving closer to Theo like his touch and warmth kept her within his orbit. Her hand slowly shifted beneath his, turning her palm upwards so it softly pressed into his as she entangled their fingers. She crossed her right leg over her left and started to lean back casually in the chair when she heard the elevator doors open farther down the hall, followed by the telltale thud of approaching steps. The stench of sex and heavy floral perfume that preceded Ronnie wafted through the doorway and bombarded Myla’s senses like a sour omen. Her back straightened, muscles tensing as whatever comfort slipped out of reach as quickly as it came. She no longer sat leisurely but like she was on alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop or for a metric fuck ton of shit to hit the fan. 

While it would be fair to assume that Ronnie would slink into the meeting, attempting to go unnoticed and disappear among the crowd after the morning she had, the opposite couldn’t be more true. She carried herself across the threshold with her usual arrogance and head held high, seemingly unbothered by the deep purple bruise that bloomed along her shoulder beneath the ice pack she held against it. Her gaze swept around the room, taking stock of who was present, silently thankful for the absence of Imogen. When her attention settled on Theo, a bright devious smirk curled at the corners of her lips and sparkled behind her eyes. [color=217c85]"Love the shirt, handsome,"[/color] she purred, running her fingers across the top of his shoulders as she passed by before finding a seat toward the back of the room. 

The second Ronnie’s fingers skimmed over his shoulders, Theo went rigid.

It was immediate, instinctive, the kind of tension that locked through his body before his mind had even fully caught up, every muscle in his back tightening beneath the fabric of his shirt like his skin itself rejected the contact. The floral perfume hit him a split second before the touch had, cloying and thick and unpleasant enough that it turned his stomach, and by the time she purred her little compliment and kept moving like she hadn’t just laid hands on him without invitation, the warmth in him had gone sharp and brittle. His fingers tightened reflexively around Myla’s hand beneath the table, not enough to hurt, just enough to ground himself in something real, something wanted, something safe. The easy humor that so often lived in Theo had nowhere to land in that moment. It vanished cleanly, leaving behind a tautness in his jaw and a look in his eyes that was far colder than most people ever got to see.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head, not toward Ronnie, because he knew if he looked directly at her right then he might say something far uglier than he wanted to in a room already primed to combust, but toward Alfred and Phil instead. One eyebrow lifted, then the other, disbelief and irritation written plainly across his face in a way that needed no translation. His voice, when it came, was level, but there was strain threaded through it like steel wire pulled too tight. [color=feffb5]"Is there a formal process somewhere for filing a sexual harassment complaint after making it very clear you’re not interested?"[/color] The words were dry, almost light on the surface in the way Theo so often weaponized humor, but there was no real joke in them. Only tension. Only the simmering edge of someone who was tired, tired of being treated like his boundaries were optional, tired of Ronnie acting like disinterest was a game she could win if she kept pushing hard enough, tired of having to make civility out of discomfort because apparently he was expected to be the easy one.

His gaze stayed on Alfred and Phil for a beat longer, shoulders still stiff, before he finally exhaled through his nose and leaned back just enough to reclaim his space. Under the table, his thumb brushed once over Myla’s knuckles, a quiet reassurance to himself as much as to her. Then, only then, did he let his eyes flick toward Ronnie at the back of the room, expression flat and unimpressed in a way that somehow carried more bite than any quip he could have thrown. Theo didn’t dignify her with anything else. Didn’t give her a smile, didn’t give her a retort, didn’t give her the attention she so obviously wanted. He simply looked away again, dismissing her with the same clean finality as a slammed door, and kept his hand firmly laced with Myla’s like a line drawn in plain sight. 

Ronnie rolled her eyes dramatically as her fingers curled around the back of the chair in front of her. [color=217c85]"Calm down, Teddy,"[/color] she drolled while pulling out the chair and taking a seat with a sigh. [color=217c85]"I know better than to yank on the wings of your little [i]angel[/i],"[/color] she jested and clicked her tongue. [i]Hell's Angel[/i] had made her stance perfectly clear and while the idea of getting punched a second time was less than thrilling, she couldn't deny ruffling some feathers either. After all, if everyone in that damn tower was going to get bent out of shape over little shit like this, then how the hell were they expected to accomplish anything? It was… team building, of a sort. 

The sharp click of heels against tile echoed throughout the conference room as Imogen stepped through the doorway. Her clothes were no longer stained with oil and grease, and her blonde hair was coiled in loose, damp ringlets along her shoulders. Her arm was extended behind her, hand gently clutched in Magni’s as he followed close behind, his own blond mane equally wet, dripping water along the collar of his shirt. Just inside the room, Imogen’s attention snapped to Ronnie having heard Theo’s question and the woman's disregard. Her fingers coiled tighter around Magni's hand, using his touch and hold to ground her, and keep her from making a scene twice in one day. [color=a8f9ff]"Touch someone without their consent [i]again[/i]… And I'll break your hand in so many places you won't be able to touch yourself."[/color] Her words were cold, assured, and brandished like a blade she didn’t care to try and hide.

She held the woman's gaze for just long enough to make sure the message sank in, before pointedly leading Magni and herself to the farthest possible end of the table from Ronnie. Imogen pulled out her chair, stepped in front of it, and placed her hands on the table. [color=a8f9ff]"Consider me newly appointed HR,"[/color] she added with a wide smile that could almost pass as playful if it wasn't for the cold, hollow anger that resided behind her eyes. 

Ronnie scoffed and shook her head incredulously like a child being told no, who had no intention of following the rules. [color=217c85]"I don't think you can call yourself HR [i]and[/i] threaten someone,"[/color] she argued with an arrogant sort of calm as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. 

[color=a8f9ff]"My dad built this place. I can do whatever the fuck I please,"[/color] Imogen responded coldly. She promptly sat down, choosing to no longer humor Ronnie with her attention, adjusting her seat so that Magni's presence beside her perfectly blocked the woman from her sight.

Magni settled into his own chair beside Imogen, his newly freed hand rising to rest upon Imogen's shoulder in some small symbol of concern. He knew well by her display earlier that she was sincere in her threats. Despite the cloud of pain in seeing Ronnie, she was in the same boat as the rest of them. They all had kin to find, and quarrels amongst themselves would only dampen the odds of a successful campaign to recover their captured predecessors. He let the look of concern, and his own scattered thoughts, convey his meaning before letting go.

A moment later, Magni looked towards Tobias and the stranger sitting next to him. He let out a relieved sigh and nodded his head. When he spoke, it was with an exhausted tone that was remarkably unusual. [color=00aeef]"I am pleased that thou art well. Every victory over our adversaries is welcome."[/color] When he looked Bellamy over, a welcoming smile graced his lips. He offered a more formal bow of his head. [color=00aeef]"I am Magni, son of Thor, Prince of Asgard, and I am at thy service. I trust Tobias hath shown thee suitable hospitality?"[/color]

Bellamy felt, frankly, a little like she had been dropped into the center of a thunderstorm and told to stand still while lightning picked its favorite place to strike. Everyone in this room seemed to burn so brightly in their own direction, sharp, loud, angry, dangerous, that she hardly knew where to put her eyes without feeling singed by the sheer force of them. When Imogen entered, Bellamy sat up a little straighter on instinct alone, her breath catching as recognition prickled along the back of her neck; she knew that voice. The threat in her tone was almost enough to make Bell shrink back on reflex, shoulders tucking inward as her gaze darted nervously toward Tobias, as if checking he was still there and solid and real and close enough to touch if she needed grounding. 

But then her attention snagged, caught fast on the man beside Imogen like a thread yanked too quickly from a spool, and Bell blinked rapidly at the sheer [i]size[/i] of him, a behemoth in every sense, golden and broad and impossible not to notice, speaking with a strange, beautiful formality that should have sounded ridiculous and somehow did not. He sounded like someone out of an epic poem or an old legend forced into fluorescent lighting and conference chairs, and there was something so naturally earnest about it that Bellamy found, absurdly, that she didn’t mind at all. If anything, he seemed almost radiant, all warm sunlight and noble posture beside Imogen’s frost edged severity, and together they looked so strikingly well matched it made her think, with a kind of dazed sincerity, that they might actually be the dictionary definition of a power couple.

After a beat too long, Bellamy realized she was staring and quickly dipped her head in a clumsy imitation of Magni’s formal bow, the movement making her feel faintly foolish and far too aware of herself, but she wanted to be respectful in whatever way she knew how. [color=bdddff]"I… nice to meet you,"[/color] she managed, shifting awkwardly in her chair, her hands tightening in the oversized sleeves pooled around her wrists as if she could hide inside them if she needed to. She had never been good at this, not at parties, not at galas her fathers dragged her to, and certainly not here, where everyone seemed made of sharper stuff than she was, and now it felt a million times worse with every pair of eyes that turned toward her. 

[color=bdddff]"Tobias has been—I mean, I wouldn’t be alive without him, so…"[/color] The words tripped over each other the moment they left her mouth, and heat flooded her face so fast it made her dizzy, the kind of mortification that started at her cheeks and spread all the way down her throat. Her gaze dropped immediately to the table, to the grain in the wood, to anything but the room full of people now surely watching her stumble through gratitude like a fool, and she fought the sudden, irrational urge to test whether the windows were thick enough to stop her if she launched herself at one hard enough. [color=bdddff]"He’s been amazing,"[/color] she finished more quietly, the confession soft and painfully sincere, and if her pulse jumped harder for having said it aloud in front of everyone, well, that was one more thing Bellamy would have to survive.

Tobias had been doing everything in his power to avoid the constant flow of tensions that tip-toed along the edge of falling into chaos like the night they all arrived or training. It was a lot of large personalities shoved into a small space and forced to [i]get along[/i]... as best they could. He didn’t want to be a mediator. He didn’t want to cause conflict either. He simply called the meeting to keep everyone informed, avoid repeating himself, and protect Bellamy from a wave of questions she wasn’t ready to answer. It seemed in his best interest to just ignore half of the jabs and underhanded comments that were passed around… At least until he heard his own name. 

He looked up, gaze lifting from the pattern of the grain in the table to bounce back and forth between Magni and Bellamy. Tobias could feel the warmth creeping up the back of his neck and threatening to bloom across his cheeks. [color=796e9c]"Well, I…"[/color] He cleared his throat and attempted to divert some of the attention off of himself. [color=796e9c]"Alfred helped with the hospitality part,"[/color] he added, nodding his head toward the older gentleman sitting at the opposite end of the table. 

[color=d6d6d6]"He is far too humble. I only made tea."[/color] Alfred smiled with his own breed of subtle mischievousness, like a silent challenge for Tobias to discredit himself further. 

Imogen on the other hand, hadn’t realized how rude she had been until Magni offered up a friendly introduction where she had rooted her own terrible first impression with all threats and bluster. She sighed softly, leaning toward Bellamy, who sat close by, when there was a lull in conversation. [color=a8f9ff]"I apologize for… [i]that.[/i]"[/color] She motioned her hand dismissively in the general direction of Ronnie, but more was apologizing for her own outburst and the storm she brought along with her. [color=a8f9ff]"I’m Imogen Frost,"[/color] she introduced herself, sparing Magni a quick glance and affectionate smile before turning back to Bellamy. [color=a8f9ff]"No titles or anything. Just Imogen."[/color] Her hand slowly extended toward the girl in a friendly offering. [color=a8f9ff]"Also, sorry for the scare last night. I don’t normally dip into people’s minds without their permission… But given the circumstances."[/color] Her smile grew a fraction as she gave a small, guilty shrug.

Bellamy offered Alfred a small, shaky smile at that, the kind that trembled at the corners but was no less sincere for it, and for a fleeting second the warmth of the exchange softened something taut inside her. Her eyes drifted, almost helplessly, back to Tobias before she could stop them, catching on him in pieces the way a hand might snag on silk, the clean line of his jaw as he tried to deflect attention, the dark ink climbing over his skin in sharp contrast against the muted tones of the room, the close crop of his hair, the faint flush threatening the back of his neck as if embarrassment had finally managed to slip through the cracks in all that practiced restraint. 

It was absurd, the way her thoughts seemed to catch on him now, again and again, as though some part of her kept circling back to the same point without permission, and Bellamy had just enough time to feel the heat threatening her own cheeks before Imogen’s voice pulled her free like a thread yanked taut. She turned too quickly, startled out of the dangerous little spiral of noticing him, and met the other woman’s gaze with a visible flush already climbing high along her face.

[color=bdddff]"No,"[/color] she blurted far too fast, the word escaping before she could shape it into something less abrupt, and Bellamy winced inwardly at herself before forcing a quieter breath through her nose. [color=bdddff]"I mean—I wanted to thank you. You don’t need to apologize."[/color] Her fingers tightened in the sleeves pooled around her hands, a nervous little anchor, and she shook her head once as if to reinforce the sentiment. [color=bdddff]"If you hadn’t…"[/color] The words faltered there, trailing off into something softer and more fragile than she intended, because the memory of it rose too easily, the cold terror, the splintering panic, the humiliating unraveling of herself under too many eyes. Bellamy couldn’t hold Imogen’s gaze through that, not with shame swelling hot and heavy in her chest, so her eyes slipped downward to the table instead, to the grain of the wood where it was safer to focus than on the woman who had helped save her life. [color=bdddff]"I’m just… glad you did,"[/color] she finished quietly, voice barely above a breath, the confession settling somewhere between gratitude and embarrassment with all the raw, unpolished honesty Bellamy never seemed able to hide for long.

Imogen didn’t need to be a telepath to sense the girl’s unease at being the center of attention along with the lingering horrors that had barely been given a chance to breathe, let alone digest them and accept what all had happened to her. She couldn’t blame the girl and she wasn’t the type to press or force conversation either. The blonde’s smile simply grew in silent understanding, followed by a small nod. [color=a8f9ff]"Of course,"[/color] she offered quietly. [color=a8f9ff]"Happy to help… with anything you need,"[/color] she added, setting the implication down gently between the two of them without saying anything else.

Bellamy could only nod at first, the motion small and almost fragile, as if anything larger might crack the thin shell of composure she had managed to keep wrapped around herself. But she looked up just long enough to offer Imogen another smile. Shy, fleeting, and soft around the edges, the kind of expression that seemed to appear only by accident before slipping away again. It lingered there for a heartbeat like a flicker of candlelight in a storm, and when Bellamy finally found her voice, it came quiet and unsteady, threaded through with far more feeling than the two simple words should have carried. [color=bdddff]"Thank you,"[/color] she said softly, and somehow it sounded like gratitude, relief, and the ache of being shown kindness when she still wasn’t sure she knew how to hold it.

June entered the conference room dressed like she’d stepped out of a board meeting, rather than spending most of her morning plotting behind computer screens. Her outfit was deceptively effortless in the way only old money and dangerous people ever seemed to manage. A fitted black bodysuit disappeared into high waisted cream trousers that fell in dramatic, fluid pleats all the way to the floor, elegant and severe in equal measure. Gold glinted at her wrist and throat in restrained little accents, and her dark hair spilled loose around her shoulders in soft waves that looked artfully unbothered, framing a face that was all cool poise and dark, cutting intelligence. She looked less like someone attending a meeting and more like someone arriving to take control of one, if needed.

She was not even a full beat behind Imogen and Magni when she crossed the threshold, the sharp click of her own heels threading into the tail end of the argument like punctuation. A slim tablet rested in one hand, her thumb dragging across the illuminated screen as she walked, lips faintly pursed in concentration, not bothering to look up immediately. June moved through the room on a sort of practiced autopilot, the path to Jim as instinctive as breathing, as though some part of her had already decided where “her place” was without consulting the rest of her. Only when she reached the back of his chair did she finally pause, one hip shifting subtly as she leaned there, gaze still on the tablet for one more beat while the room held itself taut around Ronnie’s latest offense.

[color=375a87]"Honestly,"[/color] she said at last, the word slow and flat, all bored disdain sharpened to a fine edge. Her eyes remained on the screen as though Ronnie was not quite worth the full effort of direct attention. [color=375a87]"The fact that violence has to be threatened for you to understand the concept of boundaries is a little embarrassing."[/color]

She clicked her tongue softly at something on the tablet, brow knitting for half a second before she flicked the display dark. Then, finally, June looked up.

Her gaze landed first on Imogen, and something fond tugged at the corner of her mouth—small, brief, the sort of expression one might miss if they blinked. Then her eyes slid to Ronnie, and the warmth vanished so completely it might never have existed. She tipped her head slightly, the motion elegant and almost curious, her voice lowering into that maddeningly smooth drawl that was so close to Bruce Wayne’s it was almost eerie.

[color=375a87]"I must say,"[/color] she murmured, as though discussing market trends instead of social violence, [color=375a87]"I cannot decide if you’re incredibly brave…"[/color] She let the silence stretch just long enough for Ronnie to wonder if the statement might somehow become a compliment.

June’s mouth curved faintly. [color=375a87]"…or simply too stupid to realize antagonizing someone who can punt a door across the room like it’s paper is a horrible idea."[/color]

The shrug that followed was effortless, almost lazy, as if she had merely made an observation about the weather. If she meant Theodore or Imogen, it was hard to say. Then she turned her head back toward Imogen and flashed her a bright, easy grin that was all polish and poison and private amusement, before brushing against Jim as she slid the tablet onto the table in front of what would be her seat beside him.

[color=375a87]"On that note, if anyone has any additional issues with Veronica, who seems to have less self control than a teenage boy, feel free to let me know aswell."[/color] Her gaze swept the room then, dark and cool and cataloguing, taking in every body, every posture, every bruise of tension lingering after the morning’s chaos. Theo and Myla, a gravitational field all their own even when they weren’t touching. Imogen, crackling with the kind of rage that could level buildings if left unchecked. Magni, broad and golden and impossible to miss, his sheer presence acting like a shield whether he intended it or not. Bellamy, new, small by comparison, carrying that brittle stillness trauma gave people when they were trying very hard not to look as shaken as they felt. Jim, of course, was at the center of her peripheral awareness even when she deliberately moved away from him.

June stepped back around the back of his chair, brushing past it with the smooth confidence of someone who had already decided this room belonged to her just as much as it belonged to Imogen and Jim. She drifted first toward Bellamy, but not before her eyes cut back to Ronnie one final time, cool and unhurried, the warning almost elegant in its delivery.

[color=375a87]"I’d implore you to remember, [i]Miss Hardy,[/i] that no matter how desperate we may seem, we are not above dismissing someone who pushes boundaries to the degree you seem intent on exploring."[/color] Her tone was different from how she’d spoken to them before, the heiress of Wayne Enterprise’s, a woman who came from old money and grim resolve, had slipped through. Then she dismissed her entirely. It was almost cruel, how quickly Ronnie ceased to exist for her once she had made her point. As June crossed the room, her tone shifted with astonishing ease, like a blade being sheathed. She nodded first to Theo and Myla, the ghost of a smile touching her mouth again, softer now, edged in something that might have been real fondness if one knew where to look.

[color=375a87]"You’re looking better today, Myla. Nice shirt, Theo."[/color] The comment was so dryly delivered that it hovered between compliment and tease, which, for June, was practically affection.

Her attention flicked to Magni next, and the smile she offered him was easier, brighter, touched with genuine warmth that made her seem younger for half a second. [color=375a87]"I have an idea I’d like to run by you after the meeting, Magni, if you’d hang around for a moment—oh, you too, Theo, pretty please."[/color]

The last two words came with a deliberately charming tilt, almost playful, as if she knew exactly how ridiculous it sounded coming out of her mouth and was weaponizing that too. There was a glimmer there, something secretive and clever and already halfway into whatever scheme she was constructing behind her eyes.

By the time she stopped beside Bellamy, the edge in her expression had softened fully. June turned toward her properly, and the smile she offered this time was different from the others—warmer, quieter, touched by a tenderness she did not often show in public. Bellamy looked a little like a fawn dropped into a wolf den, all too new to the sharpness of this world and trying very hard not to let it show. June’s gaze flicked to Tobias for a moment, taking in his posture, and then back down to the other girl. 

[color=375a87]"Miss Drake,"[/color] she said, voice low and smooth, almost coaxing with how sincere it was, [color=375a87]"Pleasure to meet you. I only wish it were under better circumstances."[/color]

She let that sit between them for a beat, giving Bellamy the courtesy of being addressed like a person rather than a problem. Then June angled herself just slightly, enough to place her own body as a subtle barrier between Bellamy and the rest of the room without making a spectacle of it, dark eyes lifting once more to the table at large. Everything about her posture said the same thing, even if she never voiced it aloud: If this meeting becomes another circus, no one would be putting any misplaced anger on Bellamy. 

Bellamy’s spine went a little straighter the moment June approached, though whether it was out of respect or pure nerves she couldn’t have said. She looked like someone who belonged in control of every space she entered, and when her attention settled fully on Bellamy, kind and deliberate and far gentler than the cold edge she had turned on everyone else, it made Bell’s throat tighten unexpectedly. 

[color=bdddff]"It’s… nice to meet you too,"[/color] she replied softly, her voice a little shaky despite her best efforts, fingers worrying at the bracelet on her wrist as she glanced up only briefly before her gaze dipped again. [color=bdddff]"And thank you."[/color] The words were small, but sincere, because even as intimidated as she was, Bellamy could feel the subtle way June had placed herself there like a shield, and in a room this loud and full of sharp edges, that kindness landed deeper than she knew how to say. 

June’s expression softened the moment Bellamy looked at her like that, nervous and trying so hard to hold herself together, and something quiet and aching moved through her chest. A small, almost sad smile touched her mouth as she dipped her head slightly toward the other girl, her voice dropping low enough to feel private despite the room around them. [color=375a87]"If you need anything, just let J.A.R.V.I.S. know. We can have whatever you need ordered in, it wouldn’t be a problem at all."[/color] She let the reassurance linger a beat before her attention lifted, offering Tobias a small nod of acknowledgment, a warmer smile to Alfred, and then, because she was still June, no matter how sharp the room had become, she stuck her tongue out at Phil like a child before gliding back toward her seat. 

When she settled beside Jim, her shoulder brushed his lightly, and the clean, familiar scent of oil and mint and eucalyptus curled around her in a way that loosened something tight between her shoulder blades. She angled subtly toward him as though drawn there by instinct, the hard edges of her posture softening all at once, and when she spoke again, her voice was so much quieter than it had been with anyone else it was almost intimate. [color=375a87]"Hi,"[/color] she breathed, the word touched with a shyer warmth than anyone in the room had likely ever heard from her, save Imogen. [color=375a87]"You look handsome today. Did you get my message?"[/color] The question hung between them with careful, deliberate ambiguity. She could have meant the note she’d left for him that morning, the offer to take lunch together, or the blueprints she had sent over through J.A.R.V.I.S. a little earlier. In the end, it was a kindness disguised as casualness, a way of handing Jim the choice of how clear he wanted to be with an audience. 


Jim had naturally relaxed his shoulders slightly at June's entrance. He knew damn well from experience and reputation that if anyone could keep things on track, it was Juniper Wayne. Her quick effort to rush to Theo's defense stung a little given the webslinger's recent barbs, but even he knew it was more of a defense of his sister. When she stood behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end in a way that only happened with her. He kept the stoic mask on regardless, still choking down his own frustrations with the solace that there was another target to gang up on for once. Watching June work the room distracted him from fuel calculations he had been checking for the fifth time that morning.

When June settled against him, there was a slight robotic stiffness that had returned all at once. It was momentary, giving way to his more relaxed posture as he reminded himself who was invading his personal space. It was hard unlearning something that felt so hard coded into his mannerisms. When she spoke, her softness caught him slightly off-guard. He faced her, peering at her over the rim of his glasses. Despite a rather restful night of sleep, dark rings were still visible under his eyes. If anything, they seemed slightly more pronounced beneath the thinly visible lines of numbers and formulas flashing across his tinted lenses.

Jim wasn't sure exactly which message June was referring to, as there were several. He figured, by process of elimination, that she could only be referring to the latest of them as it was the most relevant to their shared mission. [color=ed1c24]"I… yes. I haven't looked over the files yet, I thought I…"[/color] he paused, second-guessing his assumption as his thoughts raced. He considered her other note, the one that had an invitation. Was she expecting a formal answer? [color=ed1c24]"Or rather, [i]we[/i], could look them over after lunch,"[/color] he corrected. 

Something in June’s face softened and brightened all at once at his correction, subtle but unmistakable, like the first slant of sunlight catching on dark glass. [color=375a87]"I’d love that,"[/color] she murmured, the words pitched low enough to feel meant only for him despite the crowded room around them. A faintly guilty grin tugged at her mouth as she ducked her head just a fraction, a rare flicker of bashfulness threading through the polish. [color=375a87]"I… err, you don’t want me to cook,"[/color] she admitted, amusement warming the edges of her voice. [color=375a87]"Trust me. I’ll ask Alfred, after the meeting."[/color] 

She lifted the tablet between them then, the screen unlocking instantly with facial recognition, and with a few quick swipes she dismissed what looked suspiciously like security footage of a door caving inward beneath a diamond-hard fist, her lips twitching into a brighter, more mischievous little smile before shifting to the sleek, layered blueprints of her own suit. The rest of the room seemed to fall away from her in that instant, June sinking effortlessly into the gravity of the work, but she angled the tablet toward Jim without a word, the gesture intimate in its own quiet way, an unspoken request for his thoughts, his eyes, his mind beside hers.

By the time Zaria and James stepped out of the elevator and made their way toward the conference room, there was an unmistakable lightness to them that hadn’t been there the day before. It wasn’t loud, not the kind of happiness that demanded attention, but it lingered in the edges, the looseness in James’s shoulders, the quiet ease in the line of his mouth, the way Zaria moved at his side with the faintest skip in her step like her body had forgotten, for a little while, how to brace for impact. She had changed after her shower into something soft and deceptively delicate. A fitted white lace camisole with thin straps and a lace up front that drew the eye to the elegant line of her throat and collarbones, black high-waisted shorts that showed off long bare legs, and a loose cream knit cardigan slipping off one shoulder as if it had never been convinced to stay in place to begin with. Her light hair, still slightly tousled and wet from the shower, framed her face in soft waves, pinned up into two playful little buns at the crown, and the whole effect was unfairly pretty in a way that contrasted almost comically with the story she was in the middle of telling. 

[color=00674F]“—and Logan kept insisting the curtains were [i]not[/i] on fire, which, to be fair, they weren’t at first,”[/color] she said brightly, glancing up at James with laughter already spilling into her voice. [color=00674F]“But it wasn’t really our fault, the guy threw the petrol and once you add a lighter to the equation, they become on fire [i]very quickly[/i].”[/color]

The closer they got to the meeting room, the more the atmosphere shifted. It was subtle at first, then heavier by degrees, like stepping from sunlight into the edge of a storm. Something about the space ahead felt wrong, not dangerous exactly, but strained, tense in a way that made the back of Zaria’s neck prickle and her smile soften into something quieter. Her eyes flicked toward the open doorway, taking in the room, the gathered people, the weight pressing into the air, and though she didn’t say it aloud, her expression changed just enough to show she felt it too. 

Still, she only shrugged one shoulder toward James, the cardigan slipping a little further down her arm, and leaned in close enough that her voice became a conspiratorial murmur meant only for him. [color=00674F]“I’ll finish the story later,”[/color] she whispered, lips curving faintly despite the unease threading through the room. Then, without hesitation, she followed his lead completely, falling into step beside him, and moved wherever he chose to sit at the table as though that, too, had already become the most natural thing in the world.

James walked alongside her in long, lazy strides, wearing simple, unremarkable clothes that looked nearly identical to everything else he owned: grease stained denim, steel-toed boots, and a Metallica t-shirt that looked as old as the band itself. His wet black hair was tucked behind his ears and curling at the ends as it dried, leaving dampened spots along the cotton that hugged his shoulders. His lips curled to one side in his familiar lopsided smile while his gaze remained locked onto Aria, listening to her story with an intent amusement. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest but never quite broke past the damn of his closed mouth. His pace slowed as their attention shifted toward the opened door and some of the faces that lingered beyond. He cleared his throat as his own smile faded, subconscious in sync with hers. [color=cb6b06]"I’m not going anywhere,"[/color] he mused in quiet reassurance and silent hope that he would hear the end… and any other stories she wished to share. 

He rolled his shoulders once, then stepped through the threshold into the already crowded conference room. It was one of those moments where it felt like every pair of eyes settled on him, sending an awkward and uncomfortable chill running down his spine. James managed a forced, tight-lipped smile, and a small nod of his head before quickly trying to find [i]somewhere[/i] to sit. Everyone was spread out just enough to make picking an unassuming spot impossible. It was the whole urinal dilemma where there was no avoiding being next to someone, so it was choosing the lesser evil. So it basically came down to a spot between June and Magni, whom he barely said more than two words to, or a spot between Theo and Ronnie… Similar situation but—as much as it made a strange knot tighten in his chest—he did suppose that Ronnie and Aria were [i]friends[/i] or whatever fucking term could accurately summarize their… [i]situation.[/i]

James sighed quietly, then walked along the left wall toward the small opening. First he pulled out a chair for Aria and helped her into her seat without giving it much thought. Simple chivalry was something his mom ingrained into him since he was a boy to the point it came subconsciously, like a natural order of operations, because men helped women with their seats and doors or whatever else. Once she was settled, he lowered himself into the vacant chair between her and Theo. He spared him a faint smile that was less forced and more sincere than when he first entered the room. James supposed he should try and make nice with some of the others in the tower, if for no other reason than team building or something like that. [color=cb6b06]"Hey,"[/color] he greeted the man with a slight nod. It wasn’t the most loquacious but, he was trying. 

Before settling back into his seat, James’s gaze fell to the writing on Theo’s shirt. For the first time in front of the group as a whole, a single deep, unbidden chuckle slipped out dangerously close to a snort. [color=cb6b06]"Does that actually work?"[/color] he asked, his voice having lost a fraction of its tense apprehension as he pointed at the pink font brandished proudly against the black shirt.

Zaria followed at James’s side without hesitation, the lingering warmth of the morning still tucked softly beneath her ribs even as the room’s tension pressed colder around them. When he pulled out her chair, she looked up at him with a quick, bright little smile before settling into the seat, her cardigan slipping loosely along her arms as she tucked herself in at the table. She offered Ronnie a small wave and a gentler smile across the gap, a quiet acknowledgment threaded with fondness, but when her gaze drifted farther, to Theo, and then Myla, something in her chest tightened. Ronnie’s words from the bathroom came back in fragments sharp enough to sting, and it left a faint nausea curling low in her stomach. She didn’t know what to do with that unease, didn’t know whether to trust the version she’d been given or the quiet instinct telling her people were rarely as simple as the stories told about them.

Her eyes dropped to the table, fingers smoothing once over the edge of it while her thoughts snagged on Logan’s voice, steady and worn and wiser than she’d ever let him know. [i][color=d6d6d6]Things change. People change. You. Me. Every one of us. Every day of our lives. The day you stop changin’ is the day you die.[/color][/i] The memory settled over her like a hand at the back of her neck, not pushing, only grounding. Maybe Ronnie had told the truth. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe Myla had once been exactly what Ronnie described, or maybe grief and fear and stress had twisted all of it into something uglier than it had been. Zaria chewed lightly on her bottom lip, then lifted her gaze again just as James spoke, letting the sound of his voice pull her from the spiral. She didn’t join in, but she listened, quiet and watchful, caught between warnings and the fragile hope that maybe she was still allowed to make up her own mind.

Theo brightened so quickly it was almost comical, like someone had flipped a switch somewhere behind his ribs and turned the lights back on. After the tension of Ronnie, Jim, and the general slow-motion social demolition derby this meeting had already become, the simple sincerity of James’s greeting felt like a life raft tossed into rough water. His grin came fast and easy, broad enough to look almost boyish, the kind of smile that made his whole face open up and softened whatever lingering sharpness had been left in him from the last few minutes. It was the sort of expression that said [i]oh thank God, a normal person,[/i] even if “normal” in this tower was a deeply flexible concept. His fingers stayed laced with Myla’s beneath the table, thumb sweeping absently over the back of her knuckles in a quiet rhythm, grounding himself in her even as his attention shifted fully toward James.

He glanced down at the writing on his shirt like he’d nearly forgotten what he was wearing, then looked back up with a little snort of his own, delighted by the question. [color=feffb5]"Nope,"[/color] he said at once, popping the p with theatrical emphasis, shoulders lifting in a small shrug that was all easy humor and zero shame. [color=feffb5]"Absolutely not. But I like making people laugh, so I’m calling it a public service."[/color] 

James’s smile softened just a fraction, thankful that Theo met him halfway or however much was the rest of the way so they didn't settle into some weird awkward silence while sitting nearly shoulder to shoulder. He sunk a little lower into his seat, letting his shoulders sag casually and his back rest against the chair. [color=cb6b06]"Should have figured since she can't read it,"[/color] he added motioning lazily toward Myla. 

[color=962929]"I [i]can[/i] hear you,"[/color] Myla mused, turning her head slightly toward both of them with a subtly amused smirk.

[color=d13b00][i]Smooth,[/i][/color] the spirit mocked him somewhere in the back of his mind like a grumpy, bad-tempered conscience.

A beat passed and James's eyes widened slightly. [color=cb6b06]"[i]Shit.[/i] My bad,"[/color] he quickly tried to recover his fumble with an equally bad apology. 

Myla laughed softly and squeezed Theo’s hand so he didn't freak or get protective when it wasn't necessary. [color=962929]"You're fine. You're not entirely wrong."[/color] Her free hand reached up to gently push her sunglasses further up onto her nose. [color=962929]"So what [i]does[/i] his ridiculous shirt say?"[/color] A second passed and her brows creased while her lips pursed slightly. [color=962929]"You know what… I don't wanna know,"[/color] she concluded brushing it off with a dismissive wave of her hand and a quiet chuckle.

Theo barked out a laugh at the whole exchange, bright and helpless and utterly delighted, the sound spilling out of him so easily it seemed to cut straight through the lingering stiffness of the room. James’s brief horror at realizing Myla could, in fact, hear him only made it better, and Theo squeezed her hand back under the table in silent thanks when she did the opposite of escalating and instead let the moment turn playful. It was nice, absurdly nice, how quickly the energy around them shifted from sharp-edged to something almost normal, almost easy, and Theo leaned into it with all the effortless enthusiasm of someone who had built half his life on making tense moments breathe again.

The grin never left his face, if anything it deepened, and Theo tilted his head slightly as his brain made the jump from [i]friendly conversation opener[/i] to [i]this new person is an introvert he could adopt immediately.[/i] He recognized the type on instinct, quiet, a little tense, trying anyway, and if Theo Parker had ever met a mildly awkward introvert in need of social buffering and not tried to become their friend, it certainly wasn’t today. [color=feffb5]"Hey, man,"[/color] he added, pivoting with the kind of shameless enthusiasm only an extrovert could weaponize, [color=feffb5]"Is that your motorcycle down in the garage? Because if it is, I’ve been trying very hard not to be weird about how cool it is."[/color]


James's brows rose, his interest piqued more than common small talk normally elicited. [color=cb6b06]"Uh… yeah,"[/color] he replied with a crooked, lopsided smile and a small nod. [color=cb6b06]"It's a lot cooler when I let the other guy take control,"[/color] he added while motioning toward his head and the spirit that resided within. Sure, his bike was nice… or at least he thought so. But there was something extra badass about a motorcycle spitting out flames, obeying his will, and defying physics. It was probably the only thing he actually enjoyed about his current predicament. [color=cb6b06]"Do you ride?"[/color]


When James mentioned the “other guy,” Theo’s brows lifted with genuine intrigue rather than judgment, the kind of easy acceptance that came naturally to him in a tower full of impossible things. [color=feffb5]"I used to, yeah,"[/color] he said, smile softening into something a little more nostalgic as he tipped his head back against the chair for a second, gaze flicking toward the ceiling like the memory lived somewhere up there. [color=feffb5]"My dad used to take me out riding when I was younger. Haven’t in a while, though."[/color] There was warmth in the words, and a small ache too, quiet enough not to show plainly but there if anyone knew how to listen for it. His thumb brushed once more over Myla’s knuckles before his grin returned, easy and bright as ever. [color=feffb5]"I gotta take my car back to my mom soon, actually. So maybe I’ll steal one of the bikes instead and pretend I’m way cooler than I am."[/color]

[color=cb6b06]"Do you have a [i]license?[/i]"[/color] James asked in response, a single brow raising slightly. Because [i]‘when I was younger’[/i] didn’t necessarily mean he was legally qualified to. It was sort of dumb, someone like him caring about the legality of it when he was talking to a vigilante. It was more of a safety thing… although, upon further reflection, also kind of dumb. While James could do stupid shit on the back of a bike, he still was an advocate for appropriate motorcycle safety. Sure, supes could get into car crashes and be fine and he imagined Theo was fairly durable in one way or the other, but for whatever reason he felt the need to enforce it… or maybe at least with his own bike.

[color=feffb5]"I run around the city everyday in spandex,"[/color] he deadpanned a little, but his lips were still pulled up into an easy grin. It was a valid question, but at the end of the day he had bigger things to worry about than keeping up with license’s. He was fairly certain his actual drivers license had expired six months ago, actually. [color=feffb5]"Maybe I’ll get one when I retire, but the cops in the city have more to worry about than busting people for driving infractions these days, trust me."[/color] A grim truth, but a truth nonetheless. 

Theo’s attention flicked up almost on instinct the second the room shifted again, the subtle hush of another body entering the conference room threading itself through the background noise like a warning bell only some people seemed equipped to hear. Luke slipped inside with the kind of quiet that somehow drew more attention than if he’d announced himself, tan slacks, crisp white button-up, every inch of him polished into that same maddening image of effortless charm he wore like armor. Theo watched him in the same way one watched a dog that didn’t bark before it bit, casual on the surface, but with every internal alarm tripping one after another beneath it. 


Luke’s gaze moved across the room in a slow, assessing sweep that felt far too deliberate to be absentminded. It skimmed over faces like fingertips over a bruise, lingering just a beat too long on Magni, then Bellamy, and something in Theo’s expression flattened at that. He didn’t miss the way the man took stock of people, the way he seemed to catalogue rather than simply look, the kind of attention that never felt harmless no matter how calm his face was. Then Luke moved to sit beside Ronnie without offering so much as a greeting, folding himself into the chair like he belonged there more than anyone else in the room. Theo’s jaw shifted once, subtle but telling, and he leaned back a fraction in his seat, thumb brushing over Myla’s knuckles beneath the table as his eyes narrowed just enough to turn his easy expression thoughtful. He didn’t say anything, but the bright warmth that usually lived in him dimmed into something quieter, more watchful, the kind of stillness that meant he was already filing the moment away for later.

James had planned on replying, but Luke's entrance and subsequent seating on the other side of Zaria drew his attention. He sighed softly and gave Theo a small nod that was part gratitude for the welcome and surprisingly normal conversation, but also an apology for having to cut it short. Then with a casual ease that would have gone unnoticed if it wasn't for the sound of computer chair wheels gliding across tile, he pushed his feet against the ground. His left hand curled around the armrest of Zaria's chair, and in a casual shift that looked so natural that one could be forgiven thinking it was the building tilting and their chairs following the flow of gravity, James gently tugged her into the space he had occupied, safe beside Theo's warmth. Meanwhile he slipped into the newly made vacancy, between her... And Luke. He nonchalantly leaned back in his chair, lazily crossing his arms over his chest while lifting his right foot to rest against his opposite knee. He didn't say anything. He didn't make a show of it. They simply switched like the sun was in her eyes and he was remedying her of that and there was nothing more to it. 

The moment Luke took the seat between her and Ronnie, Zaria went still in the way prey sometimes did when it first scented something wrong. It was small, just a tightening in her shoulders, a hitch of breath caught too high in her throat, fingers curling faintly against the edge of the table, but it happened all at once, instinctive and involuntary. Then her chair moved. She blinked, startled, her pulse stumbling as James shifted them both with such effortless ease that for half a second it barely felt real. One moment she had been trapped in the sharp, slick discomfort of Luke’s proximity, and the next she was settled between James and Theo instead, tucked neatly out of reach, James in the seat beside Luke like he had simply decided the arrangement made more sense. 

The breath she’d been holding slipped out of her in a quiet rush, and with it went the rigid tension that had seized her spine. She turned her head toward him at once, gratitude shining plain and bright across her face, soft, almost startled, far too open to be hidden, but she said nothing, because he had made it look like nothing, and she understood enough to honor that.

Something fluttered low in her chest then, strange and unfamiliar and far too tender to examine here. It felt like relief, yes, but more than that, something warmer, something that made her ribs feel too tight and her heartbeat too aware of itself. She tried to shove the feeling aside, to tuck it away where it wouldn’t distract her, but it lingered anyway, bright as a struck match. Across the table, movement caught June’s attention. Zaria noticed the woman’s gaze lift, sharp and assessing, sliding over the shift in chairs and the people involved with that quiet, unnervingly intelligent precision June seemed to wear like armor. For a brief moment, her eyes met James’s, and she gave him the faintest nod, subtle approval, cool and deliberate, before returning her focus to the tablet in front of her. 

The brief flicker of displeasure that crossed her expression at the sight of Luke was so restrained Zaria might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching so closely. But she did see it, and something inside her loosened just a little more. At least she wasn’t alone in that feeling.

[b][i]End of Part 1[/i][/b][/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

[center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] everyone [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] [@webboysurf] [@Sleepy Tani][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]