Page 128 of Heimlock

“Oh, knock it off,” Orliana hisses, sitting next to me. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Pointing the fork at her, I say, “You weren’t here last night. You don’t get to tell me what is ridiculous.”

At that, her mouth snaps shut. There’s silence in the apartment, minus the sound of Trinte pouring the coffee.

I’m eating my lemon pancakes and stewing, because I’ll be goddess damned before I let Fynn hurt Trinte ever again. He might be a Dragon, but his balls are easily removed.

After shooting me a nervous look, Fynn says, “Brother, I want to talk to you about yesterday.”

“I assumed as much,” Trinte says dryly, bringing over their mugs of coffee. “Seeing as you don’t like pancakes, and I didn’t invite you over.”

“How could you not like this?” I growl, stuffing another bite into my mouth, chewing angrily. “Psycho.”

Trinte sits in the chair beside me, placing a hand on my arm. A silent message of, chill the fuck out, you lunatic, or something similar, I’m sure. I huff out some of my anger and focus on my breakfast.

Fynn starts. “Trinte, I didn’t know he was coming. I was actively trying to get him to leave when you walked in.”

“I figured,” Trinte says mildly, taking a sip of his coffee.

“And I thought you were going to kill him.”

“I was.”

“But you swore to never do that around Orliana.”

“Technically, I didn’t.”

Orliana slams her mug on the table, splashing coffee onto the table. “Are you not going to apologize for what you did to him?”

“Orliana …” Fynn shoots her a warning look.

“No! He could’ve shattered your skull, Fynn.”

“But I didn’t,” Trinte snaps. “I definitely could have, but I didn’t.”

“And that makes it better?” she says, incredulous.

“I’m not apologizing, Orliana,” Trinte says, tone sharp. “While I understand why Fynn did what he did, it was still an egregious choice.”

“You were going to kill your own father, Trinte. You can’t come back from that.”

Trinte leans forward, resting on his arms as he appraises my best friend. “You’ve killed before. Did you come back from that?”

“That’s different,” Orliana insists. “That was my ex-husband, and in self-defense. Patricide is a whole other thing.” Her expression softens. “I worry what it will do to you.”

“What I did probably scared you, and that I’m very sorry for," Trinte murmurs.

Orliana looks down. “You really scared me, Trinte.”

Trinte reaches across the table with a hand. “Please know I would have never done anything to hurt you.”

My best friend stares at the offered hand, glances at Fynn, then places her hand on Trinte’s palm. “I believe you.”

They share a loaded look, then let go. Orliana sips her coffee, shoulders relaxing. Fynn leans back in his chair, delivering a scathing glare at his brother. It hits me that right now, both brothers have only one good eye. I bite down the laugh — now is not the time for dark humor.

Fynn taps the table with a finger, holding his mug in the other hand. “You challenged him to a Cairanin.”

Trinte winces. “Yes.”