Page 5 of King of Ruin

Cassian rested his elbow on the armrest and chuckled under his breath.

"You know..." he continued, pointing lazily between them with his glass, "I was actually beginning to wonder if hell had frozen over."

Both men looked at him.

"At the charity gala last week," Cassian said, "I could've sworn I saw Maverick smile at Elias."

He paused dramatically before shaking his head.

"I almost spilled my drink."

A low laugh escaped him.

"I mean, considering the two of you were trying to beat each other's brains out every time you were in the same room in the past, I'd say that's nothing short of a miracle."

Maverick's brows drew together almost instantly.

"I wasn't smiling."

"No?" Cassian asked.

"No."

The answer came so quickly that it only made Cassian laugh harder.

Elias remained silent throughout the exchange, casually leaning back against the sofa with one hand resting on the armrest. He didn't bother denying it, but the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly before he lowered his gaze to the whiskey in his hand, taking another slow sip as though the conversation had nothing to do with him.

Cassian noticed.

"You are also going to deny it?"

Elias merely shrugged.

"I don't care."

That earned him another suspicious glance from Maverick, who narrowed his eyes briefly before looking away again, muttering just quietly enough for everyone to hear,

"You're both imagining things."

The room erupted into chuckles once more.

Maverick shook his head with quiet resignation, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before disappearing just as quickly. He lifted his whiskey for another sip, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he lowered the glass onto the marble table with a soft clink and leaned back into the leather sofa.

For a moment, he said nothing.

His gaze wandered slowly around the room, moving from Cassian to Lucius, then to Elias. It lingered there briefly before finally settling on Xavier, who remained perfectly composed, casually swirling the whiskey in his glass.

A thoughtful look crossed Maverick's face.

Then, without another word, he uncrossed his arms, folded one leg over the other, and raised a hand, pointing straight at Xavier.

"What the hell is going on with you? You're the one who should be explaining yourself."

Xavier's brows drew together ever so slightly.

He leaned farther back into the sofa, one arm draped lazily over the backrest while the other continued to cradle his drink. The movement was calm, almost leisurely, but there was a hint of caution in his eyes as he regarded Maverick.

"What is it?" he asked evenly. "What exactly do you want me to explain?"