Page 42 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)

The moment she says it, something shifts in the air around our table.

Not just her words, but the recognition behind them—we unconsciously form a protective triangle around Karma without a single word between us.

Reed leaning forward, me automatically checking sight lines, Adrian positioning himself to block the most direct approach to our booth.

Pack coordination without conscious thought .

“What’s the actual plan for tomorrow night?” Destiny asks, and her voice has shifted from interrogation to genuine concern.

“Sterling’s expecting us at eight PM for a private viewing,” I explain. “He specifically requested Karma’s expertise, which means he’s either testing her knowledge or planning to put her in a compromised position.”

“Probably both,” Reed adds. “Sterling’s the type who likes controlling multiple variables. He’ll want to assess Karma’s expertise while evaluating whether we’re actually a pack or just three guys competing for the same omega.”

“And if he reads you as competitors instead of pack?”

“He’ll try to exploit divisions between us,” I say, feeling my jaw tighten at the thought. “Offer deals that pit us against each other, create situations where protecting Karma requires one of us to sacrifice something important.”

Karma starts straightening the salt shakers.

Then the napkin holder. Then the salt shakers again, her anxiety building with each small adjustment.

“What if I’m not good enough? What if my expertise isn’t sufficient to handle whatever test he’s planning?

What if I embarrass you all in front of someone who probably has graduate degrees in maritime history and considers people like me beneath his notice? ”

The moment her voice wavers, three things happen simultaneously: my hand moves toward her elbow, Reed leans forward with concerned focus, and Adrian’s chair scrapes closer. We don’t even look at each other because we don’t need to—this is just what we do now.

“You’re Karma Rose,” Reed says gently. “You know more about maritime antique authenticity than most people learn in lifetime careers. Sterling may have money and connections, but you have genuine passion and expertise.”

“Plus,” Adrian adds, his construction-strong hand finding hers on the table and stilling her nervous movements, “we’re not depending on your knowledge alone. Pack strength comes from combining individual capabilities.”

“What Adrian means,” I translate, watching Karma’s death grip on the salt shaker finally loosen, “is that you handle maritime expertise, Reed manages diplomatic complications, Adrian covers security and logistics, and I coordinate overall strategy. No one has to be perfect at everything.”

Destiny watches this entire exchange with fascination, her coffee cup frozen halfway to her mouth as she realizes what just happens.

“Shit,” she says finally, voice thick with something like amazement.

“You actually mean it. All of you.” She looks at Karma with wonder.

“Mija, these men are talking about you like you’re something precious they find instead of something convenient they’re using. ”

“Is that good?” Karma asks hesitantly. “Because honestly, I have no frame of reference for whether being treated like something precious is normal or if you’re all just really committed to making me feel less like a disaster.”

“That’s everything,” Destiny says, her voice going soft in a way I’ve never heard before. “That’s everything I want for you after watching Blake make you smaller every day.”

She’s quiet for a moment, studying the way we naturally position ourselves around Karma—not crowding, but creating an unconscious protective circle that includes her in the center without trapping her there.

“So what time are you leaving?” she asks, checking her phone as she moves to flip the last chairs onto tables.

“Seven PM,” Adrian answers with typical precision. “Gives us time for dinner in Boston, hotel check-in, and final preparation before tomorrow night’s meeting.”

“And you’ll call me immediately after?” Destiny fixes each of us with stern looks that promise creative violence if we disappoint her. “I don’t care if it’s eleven PM, I want to know she’s safe.”

“You’ll be our first call,” I promise, and mean it .

“Good.” Destiny moves to collect empty mugs with efficient movements. “Now get out of my coffee shop and go handle business. And remember—if anyone hurts my girl, I know exactly where you live and how you take your coffee.”

“Noted,” Reed says solemnly.

“Understood,” Adrian confirms.

“Appreciated,” I add, standing to help clear the table because my mother raises me with manners.

Karma rises more slowly, processing everything that just happens. “Des, thank you. For being protective without being impossible.”

“I’m never impossible, Mija. I’m thorough.” Destiny pulls Karma into a fierce hug, whispering something in Spanish that makes Karma laugh and tear up simultaneously. When they separate, Destiny’s expression has gone completely soft. “Go get your compass back. And bring these boys home safely.”

“I will,” Karma promises, voice only wavering slightly.

We gather our bags and head for the door, but I notice the way other customers watch us—not just idle curiosity, but the way people look when they recognize something significant happening.

Destiny’s fierce protective energy has marked us as worthy of her girl, and in a town this size, that’s better than any reference letter.

As we reach the exit, Destiny calls out:

“Oh, and Declan?”

I turn back, hand on the door handle.

“She’s worth whatever Sterling’s asking. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

The words hit like truth, settling in my chest with absolute certainty. “I know she is.”

“Good. Because if you ever forget, you’ll answer to me.”

Outside, October evening air carries salt and the promise of early frost. The rental car sits at the curb—silver sedan that looks unremarkable but handles emergency situations according to Adrian’s exhaustive specifications.

“Well,” Reed says, settling bags in the trunk with his usual efficiency, “that was either successful pack approval or the most elaborate setup for our collective murder I’ve ever witnessed. I’m choosing optimism.”

“She approves of us?” Karma asks, like she can’t quite believe it.

“Destiny approves of us,” I tell her, opening the passenger door and waiting while she settles in. “In bestie language, that’s practically a royal blessing.”

“She didn’t actually threaten violence,” Adrian adds, doing a final systematic check of our emergency supplies. “That’s high approval from protective friends.”

“She threatened creative life destruction, not violence,” Reed corrects, sliding into the back seat. “That’s sophisticated approval. Also slightly terrifying, but mostly reassuring that someone’s been looking out for you properly.”

Karma settles into the passenger seat. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. Driving to Boston tonight to confront a potentially dangerous collector tomorrow about a compass I stole from my abusive ex-boyfriend. This feels like something that happens to other people.”

“Other people don’t have pack like us,” I point out, starting the engine and feeling it purr to life. “Other people handle crises alone.”

“And we’re not just getting the compass back,” Reed adds from the back seat, voice carrying that diplomatic optimism that makes impossible things seem manageable. “We’re proving that Blake’s biggest mistake becomes our greatest blessing.”

“The compass that’s supposed to represent his new beginning gets to represent ours instead,” Adrian says quietly, settling back with his usual careful precision. “Better symbolism. Stronger foundation. ”

As we pull away from the curb, I catch sight of Destiny in the coffee shop window, flipping the sign to “CLOSED” while raising her mug in what looks like both blessing and warning combined.

Two hours to Boston. One night to prepare. One potentially dangerous meeting with Sterling Ashworth tomorrow. One chance to secure our future together.

The dashboard clock glows 5:47 PM as we merge onto Route 95 North. Rush hour traffic flows around us, but inside our rental car, everything feels focused, purposeful. Karma’s hand finds mine on the gear shift, her fingers lacing through mine with growing confidence.

“Ready?” I ask, checking mirrors as we settle into the travel lane.

“Ready,” Karma says, and her voice carries determination instead of anxiety for the first time all day.

“Let’s go get our compass,” Reed says cheerfully from the back seat. “And show Sterling exactly what pack unity looks like when someone underestimates us.”