“You tried to reorganise the food stores.”
“I improved the system.”
“You sorted them by texture.”
Caly shrugs, completely unbothered. “It’s more intuitive.”
“For who?” Jamie demands. “Decca’s pissed.”
“For anyone who doesn’t panic when they can’t find something,” Caly shoots back lightly. “Which, notably, is not you… or Decca apparently.”
I snort before I can stop myself, a little in shock by how incredible Caly’s English is.
Jamie points at him. “See? This is what I’m dealing with.”
“You’re dealing with competence,” Caly says, flashing a quick, crooked grin—a couple of pointy teeth just visible. “It’s a heavy burden, I know.”
I shake my head, the corner of my mouth pulling up despite myself. “You two always like this?” I ask.
“Yep,” Jamie says cheerfully.
“Only when he needs distracting,” Caly says at the same time, then flicks Jamie a look that’s just a little too knowing to be accidental.
Jamie doesn’t even notice. I do, and yeah—that confirms it. There’s an ease between them that’s hard to miss. It’s both familiar and comfortable. Jamie moves around Caly without hesitation, and Caly—despite the keen awareness and constant vigilance—adjusts seamlessly. He keeps pace, nudges conversations just enough to keep them light.
It’s not random but deliberate. I clock it without thinking.
“Where’s your uncle?” I ask Jamie.
“Headquarters,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Apparently I’m ‘not allowed’ today.”
“Same,” I say dryly.
That gets a grin out of him. “Yeah, well, apparently we’re both too young or too recently stabbed to be useful.”
“Hey,” I protest. “I’m extremely useful.”
Jamie gives me a look. “Uh-huh. And that’s the reason you’re hanging out here, right?”
I snort. “Mate, I’m standing, breathing, and not actively dying. That’s already a solid improvement from a few days ago.”
“Convenient,” he says, clearly unimpressed.
“Very.” I roll my shoulders, testing the movement again out of habit more than necessity. There’s a faint pull—nothing more than a reminder—but the pain that should be there just… isn’t.
Caly watches the movement, tracking the shift with quiet interest. This time, though, there’s no hard edge to it. No clinical detachment. Just curiosity laced with something almost playful.
“You’re healed,” he says, like he’s confirming a theory rather than asking a question.
I glance at him. “Mostly.”
“That’s not normal,” Jamie cuts in immediately.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
Caly hums softly, tilting his head as he studies me—not invasive, just… thoughtful. “Bond-related,” he says after a moment, like he’s piecing it together out loud. “Accelerated recovery tied to connection and proximity.”
I blink. “You always narrate your thoughts like that?”
