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VESPER

Every musclein my body protests as I shift on the couch, trying to find a position that doesn't make me wince. This morning's workout with Talon has left me feeling like I've been hit by a truck. A surprisingly satisfying kind of pain that reminds me that my body can take being trained. That with enough practice, I can protect myself.

The apartment has fallen into an odd rhythm today while we wait for updates on whether or not Alex can get anything off Ricky’s phone. He hasn't emerged from his room since lastnight, which means he’s still working through what he found, or he hasn’t been able to crack it yet. Talon keeps glancing down the hallway toward Alex's sanctuary, his expression cycling between concern and annoyance. While Oscar has been buried in his laptop at the dining table, occasionally muttering to himself in Russian as he types, working on something he hasn’t clued the rest of us in about yet. And Z has been doing what he does best, hovering. Leaving me sore, satisfied, and worried that Oscar’s risky meeting with Ricky was for nothing, and that we are no closer to finding my brother than we were before the meeting.

I shift again, unable to suppress a small groan as my body protests the movement. Z's head snaps up immediately.

“I’m fine.”

“Your groan says otherwise. You went too hard this morning for your first lesson.”

“I'm fine,” I insist, “My body isn’t accustomed to being used in that way.”

Z arches a knowing eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.”

“Should have stretched first,” Z smirks back at me.

“I did,” I lie. I mean, considering a few hours before I was doing cardio with him and his brother, I’d put myself in the well-worn and stretched category, but clearly, good sex is not a great pre-workout routine. Lesson learned.

“You overworked her this morning. This is on you, Talon.”

Talon’s smile thins.

“Unless…” Z smiles with a shrug. “That’s not the only reason you’re sore this morning.”

“Really?” Talon remarks, shaking his head.

I throw a decorative pillow at Z's smug face. He catches it without effort, his reflexes infuriatingly sharp—even while lounging like he owns the place.

“You're insufferable,” I declare.

“Yet you suffer me anyway,” he replies, tossing the pillow back with gentle precision. It lands softly in my lap.

Oscar glances up from his laptop, the corner of his mouth quirking upward before he returns to whatever has him so engrossed. The quiet tapping of his keyboard fills the comfortable silence.

Talon shifts from his spot, heading towards the kitchen, and emerges a few minutes later with a steaming mug in each hand. “Chamomile with honey,” he says, offering one to me. “Should help with the muscle soreness.”

“Thanks,” I say, gratefully accepting the warm mug. Our fingers brush during the exchange. The memory of his lips on mine in the gym this morning sends a rosy flush to my cheeks.

“Show off,” Z remarks.

“I prefer to say that I am attentive. It’s better than being an asshole all the time.”

“I'm not an asshole all the time,” Z counters, stretching his arms above his head. The motion lifts his shirt, revealing a sliver of tattooed skin and defined muscle. “Just when it's warranted.”

I hide my smile behind the rim of my mug, the steam warming my face as I take a careful sip. The chamomile is just right—sweetened with honey but not cloying, the floral notes calming the frayed edges of my nerves.

“Warranted is subjective,” Oscar comments. “Especially in your case, brother.”

“Wow, turning against your own blood? Rude.”

“Truth hurts, Z. Learn to live with it.”

“Alex still locked in his cave?” Oscar redirects the conversation away from the pissing match brewing between Z and Talon.

“Yup,” Talon confirms, settling back into the armchair across from me. “He was awake all last night, too.”