1
The sunlight hit the penthouse floorboards at exactly 7:00 AM, a reliable, golden alarm clock that I had grown to love.
It sliced through the gap in the velvet curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and landing squarely on Kai’s sleeping face. He didn’t flinch. In fact, he seemed to absorb it, his tan skin glowing as if he were solar-powered. One of his arms was thrown over his eyes, the other was draped heavily across my waist, a solid, grounding weight that pinned me to the mattress.
To my left, Rhett was a furnace. He slept on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, a tangle of black sheets twisted around his legs. He radiated heat like a woodstove, a constant, simmering warmth that kept the chill of the early spring morning at bay.
And at the foot of the bed, curled up in a sleek, elegant ball like a jungle cat, was Lucien. He claimed he slept better there because he could "guard the perimeter," but I suspected he just liked being able to see all of us at once the moment he woke up.
I lay still for a long moment, simply listening to the rhythm of their breathing.
Kai. Rhett. Lucien.
My Triad.
It had been three days since the showdown at the Library. Three days since we had broken the Brotherhood’s machine, exposed Commander Graves as a traitor, and effectively declared war on anyone who tried to mess with us.
Three days of distinct, terrifying, wonderful quiet.
I carefully lifted Kai’s heavy arm, sliding out from under the covers. He grumbled something in his sleep—it sounded like "muffins"—and reached for me blindly.
"I’m just getting coffee," I whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his knuckles.
He sighed, satisfied, and flopped his hand onto Rhett’s back instead. Rhett grunted, shifting closer to the contact, but didn't wake.
I smiled, grabbing my robe from the chair—or rather, grabbingRhett’shoodie, since my robe had mysteriously vanished into Kai’s nest of pillows three days ago. The hoodie swallowed me whole, sleeves hanging past my fingertips, smelling of cedar, rain, and that unique, electric scent of ozone that always clung to him.
I padded into the master bathroom, relishing the cool tile under my feet.
The bathroom was a testament to our chaotic, communal life. The counter was a warzone of products. Kai’s array of expensive moisturizers and hair texturizers occupied the left flank. Rhett’s solitary bar of unscented soap and black comb held the right. Lucien’s space was impeccably organized—a straight razor, a glass jar of cotton swabs, and a single bottle of cologne that smelled like midnight and cloves.
And then there was my stuff, fighting for territory in the middle.
I started brushing my teeth, staring at my reflection. My hair was a bird’s nest, my eyes still puffy with sleep. I looked… rested. For the first time in months, the dark circles under my eyes were fading. The constant, thrumming anxiety that used to live in my chest had quieted to a manageable hum.
The door creaked open behind me.
Rhett shuffled in, eyes half-lidded, hair sticking up in six different directions. He looked like a grumpy bear roused from hibernation. Without a word, he walked up behind me, wrapped his massive arms around my waist, and rested his chin on top of my head.
He let out a long, rumbling groan that vibrated through my entire body.
"Too early," he rasped, his voice gravel-deep.
"It's 7:15," I said around my toothbrush. "The sun is up."
"Disgusting." He tightened his grip, planting a kiss on my crown. "Come back to bed. The blankets miss you."
"The blankets are inanimate objects, Rhett."
"Don't hurt their feelings." He reached blindly for his toothbrush, knocking over three of Kai’s serums in the process. He didn't even open his eyes as he righted them with frightening dexterity. "Kai kicked me. He dreams about kung fu."
"He dreams about muffins," I corrected, rinsing my mouth. "I heard him."
"Muffin kung fu," Rhett amended. He started brushing his teeth aggressively, staring at his own reflection with a scowl.
The door opened again. Lucien drifted in, moving so silently I wouldn't have known he was there if not for the sudden drop in temperature. He was wearing black silk lounge pants and nothing else, his pale skin stark against the dark fabric.
"Crowded," he observed, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
