Chapter 228: 228 | Short Ribs and Blackmail [PS BONUS]
"Steele is not nice." I separated my chashu into careful bites because good pork deserved respect. "Steele is effective. She told us most of us don’t deserve to be in the Advanced Track and that she’s going to spend two years proving herself wrong or confirming her suspicions."
"That tracks." Amara nodded with recognition. "I’ve heard her guest lectures. She’s the kind of instructor who believes comfort is the enemy of development."
"She made a girl cry during the assessment." Sloane hadn’t been there for that, so she was working off secondhand information. "Right?"
"Nobody cried." That was true. Rina had come close, but Steele had actually defended Rina’s Aspect as one of the most dangerous in the cohort, which had been the opposite of cruelty. "Steele was hard on everyone equally. She found weaknesses in every single student and pointed them out in front of the whole class."
"What did she find in you?" Alistair asked the question casually, but his pale eyes sharpened with interest.
"She said my Aspect application was unclear and my tactical intelligence was better suited to consulting than field work." I shrugged. "She also pulled me aside afterward and told me she knows I’m holding back."
The table processed this information at different speeds. Koda’s eyebrows went up. Dash chewed thoughtfully. Amara’s expression didn’t change at all, which told me she’d already reached the same conclusion independently. Gia continued eating her salmon.
Sloane squeezed my thigh again, harder this time. The gesture said shut up and I love you and you’re making this worse in approximately equal proportions.
"Everyone holds back during first assessments." Alistair resumed eating with the grace of someone raised at dinner tables where presentation mattered. "The question is whether you’re holding back because you’re smart or because you’re afraid of what people will see."
"Definitely the first one."
"I hope so. My mother will ask the same question in three weeks and she won’t accept a non-answer."
"Tell her I’m looking forward to it."
"I will. She’ll enjoy that." His smile was genuine this time, and I realized that beneath the legacy name and cologne-ad face, Alistair Crane was someone who actually liked being challenged. Not in the combative way that Camille or Sloane liked it, where challenge meant something to destroy and overcome. Alistair enjoyed the puzzle of it. People as equations. Contradictions as entertainment.
I could work with that.
Dinner continued in the comfortable chaos of people getting to know each other over good food. Koda told a story about accidentally destroying her parents’ kitchen during her Aspect manifestation at age eight that had Dash laughing hard enough to choke on his fish. Amara explained the tactical philosophy behind her running technique, which involved never accelerating when you could let someone else burn energy trying to hold a lead they couldn’t maintain. Gia offered occasional observations that were technically accurate and socially devastating. Alistair demonstrated a wine critic’s vocabulary when describing the quality of the cafeteria’s lemon tarts, which he ranked as acceptable for institutional dining but beneath his personal standards.
Sloane relaxed incrementally as the meal continued, her posture softening and her hand eventually leaving my thigh to gesture while she argued with Koda about the optimal training schedule for explosive Aspects. The argument generated enough ambient heat that Amara moved her water glass to the other side of her plate. I watched Sloane talk, watched her eyes light up with the specific fire she saved for conversations about combat theory, and felt the Devotion’s Echo hum with contentment that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Sloane finding her people.
This was what she’d needed. Not me, specifically, though she’d never admit that. Sloane needed peers. People who matched her intensity and met her volume and didn’t flinch when sparks danced along her knuckles during heated debate. Koda was the first person I’d seen argue with Sloane at full power and come away grinning, and the friendship forming between them had the specific quality of two forces of nature recognizing a kindred spirit.
I ate my ramen. The broth was outstanding. Rich enough to coat the back of my mouth without being heavy, the noodles holding their texture, the chashu dissolving on my tongue with a sweetness that balanced the salt. Whoever ran the Halloran kitchen deserved a Hero ranking of their own.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Diane: How was dinner?
Me: The cafeteria is the size of an airport terminal and the food is better than most restaurants I’ve been to.
Diane: Good. You deserve it. Also I forgot to mention earlier, Sloane told me about the blue shirt. If Felicity has better taste than you, which she clearly does, let her keep shopping for you. Consider it an investment in your personal brand.
Me: You’re encouraging another woman to dress me?
Diane: I’m encouraging someone with functioning aesthetic sense to prevent you from committing further crimes against fashion. There’s a difference. Now eat your vegetables. And text me before bed.
Me: You’re two hours away, how would you know if I eat vegetables?
Diane: I know everything, sugar. Sleep tight.
I put the phone away and picked up my chopsticks. The ramen was getting cold and the gyoza wouldn’t last forever, not with Sloane’s hand already drifting toward my plate again.
"Touch the short ribs and I’ll tell everyone about the stuffed bear."
Sloane’s hand froze mid-reach. Her neck flushed pink in the span of one second, starting at the collar of her crop top and climbing toward her ears. She retracted her hand with the speed of someone who’d just touched a hot stove.
"You wouldn’t."
"Try me."
Her eyes narrowed. Blue and bright and full of a specific kind of promise that had nothing to do with friendship and everything to do with what would happen when we were alone later. The Devotion’s Echo pulsed with heat that could have registered on a thermometer.
"You are going to regret that."
"Probably. Still not sharing the short ribs."
Koda watched this exchange with open delight. Dash pretended to study his plate. Amara made no effort to hide her observation. Gia’s fork paused for a fraction of a second before resuming its path, which for her was the equivalent of a standing ovation.
Alistair lifted his lemon tart. "You two are going to be entertaining."
He wasn’t wrong. We were going to be a lot of things.
Entertaining was just the part that was safe to say in public.
