Page 54

The coffee shop slows to a lull just before the lunch rush, leaving me with a minute to breathe. Jenna wipes down the counter while Malia leans against the back wall, scrolling through her phone. The quiet feels like a gift—brief but welcome—though it won’t last long. I’m bent over, restocking the smallest coffee cups, when a voice cuts through my focus.

“I figured you’d be out saving the world or at least reworking the world of quantum physics by now.”

The cadence and the familiar teasing lilt make me straighten too quickly. I spin around to find Malikai standing a few feet from the counter. His easy, crooked smile makes it impossible not to grin back.

“Mal,” I brush a stray hair from my face. “Don’t tell me you’re taking a break for once.”

“Break’s a strong word.” He shrugs, sticking his hands into the front pockets of his bomber jacket. “Let’s call it… strategic caffeine procurement. Though I mostly came to see Malia,” he adds, nodding toward his sister, who’s already heading toward the counter with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re here for me,” she teases, shrugging out of her apron. “Ally’s the one who likes talking to you. I just tolerate you, and honestly, even that’s generous.”

It’s hard not to laugh at how Malikai handles her jabs—the same way I imagine he always has, with an eye-roll as dramatic as any sibling rivalry demands.

“You love me, and you know it,” he fires back dryly before turning his attention fully to me. “But she’s not wrong. How’s life as a barista? Are you spending any time studying?”

I shrug, gesturing toward the counter chaos with a wry smile. “It’s… caffeinated. I’ve brewed enough lattes in the last week to keep the entire Guardian ops division awake for a year. But honestly? I don’t hate it.”

“A caffeine-dealing physicist,” he muses, his grin turning gentler. “Not quite the fierce researcher I remember when we were building a fusion reactor in a glorified dungeon, huh?”

The words hang between us—not heavy, exactly , but weighted. Like the air shifts whenever it comes up: Kazakhstan , the captivity, the long hours spent working together under the watchful eyes of those who held us.

He’s one of the few people who truly understands what happened there and who I was in that space.

Who I had no choice but to be.

“There are definitely fewer people yelling at me,” I say lightly, though I can feel my voice hitch slightly at the memory.

“Fewer armed guards, too,” Malikai nods. His voice is casual, but there’s something in his eyes—something reflective and quiet that makes me wonder how often the memories still creep up on him.

It strikes me then how strange it is that neither of us will ever entirely leave those shadows behind. Even here in the bright light of Guardian HQ, surrounded by safety, people, and warmth, those memories will linger.

But Malikai, as always, shifts gears with the ease of someone who knows when a moment has run its course. He leans against the counter, nodding toward the tray of croissants waiting for restocking.

“So, about that PhD. Are you going to tackle your defense or keep procrastinating until quantum mechanics becomes obsolete?”

I snort, giving him a mock glare as I toss an apron towel at him. “It’s not procrastinating, thank you very much. It’s strategic delays brought on by extenuating circumstances.”

“Uh-huh,” he deadpans, catching the towel and folding it neatly. “Because defending your thesis post-kidnapping is so easy to schedule.”

“I’m getting there,” I protest, though I can feel my grin pulling wider at his exaggerated look of disbelief.

“Well, Mitzy told me you wouldn’t work until you secured your doctorate. I’m here to ensure that happens sooner rather than later.”

“You?”

“Me.” He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “I’m heading up their physics department. Full rein, full funding, no bureaucratic bullshit. Everything I need to take my research further than I ever could in academia.”

“Holy shit, Malikai.” My lips part, genuinely stunned. “That’s—wow. I mean, that’s huge.”

He smirks. “Yeah, well, Mitzy has a thing for poaching the best.” His eyes flick to me, assessing. “Which is why I wanted to ask—have you considered what’s next? After you finish that doctorate, there’s a place for you here if you want.”

A place for me? Mitzy mentioned something, but I didn’t believe her.

I open my mouth, but the words don’t quite come.

It’s an offer I didn’t expect—one that shifts something inside me, makes my brain start calculating possibilities, mapping out futures I hadn’t dared to consider yet.

Malikai doesn’t push. He just watches, letting me absorb it. Then, smoothly, he pivots.

“How’s it going, anyway?” His voice is lighter now, teasing. “The actual work, not the ‘strategic delays.’ What’s left? And more importantly—what can I do to help?”

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Mostly revisions. Cleaning up some sections and tightening my arguments. And then there’s the defense, which I should be prepping for but keep conveniently avoiding.”

“Then let’s fix that.”

I glance up, eyebrows raising as he smirks.

“I can meet you here after your shifts,” he offers, nodding toward the café. “We’ll go over your stuff, get you prepped so you can walk into that defense ready to annihilate anyone dumb enough to question you.”

I chew my lip, considering. It’s… a solid idea. Having someone who knows my work and who gets how my brain functions would help. Malikai is nothing if not relentless when it comes to holding people accountable.

He shrugs as if sensing my hesitation. “Or, you could come to my office instead. Check out the space I’m keeping for you.”

That catches me off guard. “You’re keeping a space for me?”

His smirk widens. “Of course. You might be too stubborn to admit it now, but eventually, you will say yes.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “Confident much?”

“I know talent when I see it.” His voice is quieter now, more serious. “I’m not going to let you waste it.”

There’s no pressure in his words—just certainty. A reminder that he believes in me.

During a brief lull after Malikai leaves, I find myself restocking cups, my mind drifting to the research waiting for me at Cornell. My quantum containment thesis isn’t going to finish itself, though Dr. Whittman has been understanding about the delay since our kidnapping ordeal. Still, I’ll need to get back to it soon.

“Earth to Ally,” Malia says, snapping her fingers before my face. “You went somewhere for a minute there.”

I blink, coming back to the present. “Sorry. Just thinking about my thesis.”

“Missing your lab at Cornell?” she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.

“Parts of it,” I admit. “I was so close to finishing when… everything happened. Dr. Whittman needed time off to pr ocess everything, and I agreed to pause too, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get back to where I was.”

“You will,” Jenna says confidently, joining our conversation. “Your brain is terrifying. Those quantum whatever equations don’t stand a chance.”

I laugh, appreciating their support. “Thanks. It’s just weird having my life split like this. Coffee shop barista by day, quantum physicist… also by day, just not right now.”

“Well, when you do go back to finish your fancy degree, just know Hank and Gabe aren’t letting you go that easily,” Malia says knowingly. “I’ve seen how they look at you. They’re in it for the long haul.”

“I know,” I say softly, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. “They’ve made that pretty clear.”

And they have. Despite my occasional fears about what happens next, Hank and Gabe have been explicit about their commitment. They’re not temporary fixtures in my life—they’re planning to be permanent ones, regardless of where my career takes me.

“Besides,” Jenna adds with a sly smile, “I’m pretty sure they’d follow you anywhere. The way Gabe watches you when you talk about your research? The man is smitten.”

“And Hank practically radiates pride whenever you go off on one of your science tangents,” Malia agrees. “Trust me, they’re not going anywhere.”

The espresso machine chooses that moment to give another alarming sputter, bringing us back to more immediate problems.

“Unlike this thing,” I mutter, giving it a gentle, placating pat. “Which is definitely on its last legs.”

“Let’s just hope it holds out until the repair guy gets here,” Jenna sighs. “Otherwise, it’s manually pressed coffee for everyone.”

“Could be worse,” I shrug, grinning mischievously. “At least we know how to work with our hands.”

Malia groans. “And we’re back to inappropriate workplace comments.”

But she’s laughing .

I widen my eyes, all faux innocence. “Would you expect anything less?”

Outside, late afternoon light spills through the expansive café windows, painting long golden streaks across the countertops. The sharp scent of espresso and baked goods lingers in the air, curling around the comforting murmur of conversation.

The lull between rushes is settling in—the sweet spot where regulars unwind, filtering in one by one for their caffeine fixes.

Or at least, that’s how it usually goes.

The first sign of trouble—or, more accurately, of them —isn’t the door opening.

It’s the shift in the air.

Like a pressure drop before a storm.

Then comes the unmistakable sound of masculinity in motion—deep, rumbling laughter, the solid thud of boots on hardwood, and the sheer presence that alters the space before they even cross the threshold.

Guardians don’t just walk in.

They occupy a room.

Big bodies, heavy footfalls, warm skin, and rough edges, their arrival an undeniable force that ripples through the café like heat before a summer thunderstorm.

I glance up just as the door swings open, the late-day sunlight backlighting them in a way that would be cinematic if it weren’t so damn familiar.

Here comes chaos.