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“Which means I heard your entire conversation,” she replies, her voice still husky with sleep. “Every word of it.”

My stomach drops. Fuck. I shoot a glance at Oscar, whose impassive expression betrays nothing, though I catch the slight tensing of his jaw.

"Mmmhmm," Vesper confirms, stretching her arms above her head. The movement causes her shirt to ride up, revealing a sliver of skin at her waist. "The Love Pentagon Meeting, Talon? Really?"

“Just throwing ideas out there. Creative problem-solving.”

She rolls her eyes but can't suppress a small smile. “And you,” she turns to me. “We’ve talked about this. Do we really need to talk about your possessiveness again?” I open my mouth, then close it, unable to find a response that doesn't make me sound like an asshole.

"That's what I thought. For the record, we did just sleep, despite my best efforts.”

I don’t miss the comment, but I let it go.

“He turned you down?” Talon interjects before he stops himself. “You know what. That’s not my business.”

“You’re right, it’s not. What I have with each of you, is just that, ours.”

Her direct challenge leaves me no room to maneuver, no space to hide behind excuses or deflection. The truth is, I hate the thought of her with Alex, but I hate disappointing her more.

Oscar's arm slides around her. “We won’t. Z is just worried about you.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I don't need three bodyguards monitoring my every move.”

“Four,” comes a rough voice from the hallway.

We all turn to see Alex leaning against the wall. He looks almost human without his usual sharp alertness, softer somehow. Vulnerable in a way I've never seen him.

“I thought you were asleep,” Vesper says, surprise evident in her voice.

“I was until I heard voices.”

“Sorry,” Talon offers, not sounding particularly apologetic. “We were just discussing our...arrangement.”

“So I gathered.” He pushes off from the wall and makes his way toward the kitchen, his movements still slow with lingering fatigue. “Coffee. I need coffee before whatever this is.”

I watch him carefully, searching for any sign of what transpired between him and Vesper. There's something different about him. Something I can't quite place that sets my teeth on edge.

"How long was I out?" he asks, measuring coffee grounds with meticulous precision.

"About six hours," Vesper answers. "Not nearly enough, but it's a start."

Alex grunts in acknowledgment, his focus on the brewing coffee. The domesticity of the scene feels jarringly out of place. Alex in his rumpled clothes making coffee while Vesper watches him with something that looks like fondness. The coffee machine hisses and sputters, filling the awkward silence that's fallen between us. I can feel Oscar's stare on me, a silent warning to keep my emotions in check. He's right. This isn't the time for jealousy or territorial bullshit. Not when we're all off balance waiting for the pickup instructions that will lead us to Luca.

He stalks back to the living room, coffee in hand, and plops on the couch on the other side of Vesper, who shifts away from my brother, settling between them both.

“Let’s get this over with.” Alex stares at me over the rim of his coffee mug as he takes another sip. “The sooner we get through this territorial alpha male showdown you're all dancing around, the better.”

His directness catches me off guard. The Alex I know avoids emotional confrontations like they're contagious diseases. “There's nothing to address,” I lie, crossing my arms. “We're good.”

Vesper snorts. “Sure you are. That's why I could feel the tension from down the hallway.”

Alex sets his mug down, his expression surprisingly open. “Look, I get it. I'm the outlier here. You three have your...arrangement with Vesper. I'm not trying to disrupt that. It’s simple. I care about Vesper. You three care about Vesper. We all want to find her brother. Everything else is secondary."

“Everything else, meaning what exactly?” I press, needing him to spell it out.

“Meaning whatever happens between any of us and Vesper is her choice,” Alex calmly offers. "Not yours, Z. Not Oscar's. Not Talon's. And not mine either.”

“Well,” Talon chuckles, clapping his hands together. “That was refreshingly direct.”