9. Adam

‘Fresh-faced??? I'm older than you!'

Liam's message arrived right as I packed up my gym bag. My personal trainer had put me through my paces in the free weights section, and ouch, yes, this was going to hurt tomorrow.

So, anyway, it seemed like Liam had read the London Morning newsletter. Nearly three weeks had passed since our joint pitch to the government and the pint we'd shared after—the pint he'd bought me, to be precise. From one business partner to another. Given we hadn't seen each other since, only exchanged a handful of texts about logistics and next week's construction of his new office…Well, I could take a hint.

Unlike me, he had options.

‘Older by what - three days?'I wrote back, then collected my gym bag, pocketed my phone, and left the locker room. I found Cassandra in the lounge, where sleek, modern leather couches combined with grand marble pillars and copper features. Water vapour fireplaces created an illusion of warmth.

"Finally!" She closed a magazine with a decisive snap and rose, a picture of elegance in slim-fitting trousers and a thin cashmere jumper as she slung her own gym bag over her shoulder. "What took you so long—did you give each pore an individual pep talk?"

Hmm. Still in a bit of a strop, then. I'd hoped working out would lighten her mood, but no such luck, it seemed. There were three ways to deal with an irritable Cassandra—wait it out, talk it out, or hug it out.

"Well, yes. They needed reassurance that they're still the smallest." I slung an arm around her waist, pulling her against my side. "Let's grab some lunch. I'm buying."

"Damn right, you are," she muttered. Since she didn't try to shake me off, I inferred that I wasn't the cause of her irritation. Good—I could work with that.

We exited into a mild day, April having brought a blast of warmth to the city. After stopping by a Pret A Manger to pick up salads, we made our way to St. James's Square and grabbed the last sunny bench overlooking the gardens and the statue of William III. Cassandra grumbled something about how when it came to bronze figures, it was either guys on horses or naked women, never the other way around. Since anything I said could and would be used against me, I hummed generic agreement and stirred my salad.

"Ugh. Fucking cranberries." She made it sound like a personal offence, and I resisted pointing out that she'd chosen this very salad herself. Instead, I drew one knee up to properly face her on the bench.

"Okay, so." I aimed for a soothing tone. "What's wrong?"

"The patriarchy," she told me. "That's what's bloody wrong."

"Sure." I nodded, easily acquiescent. "That's been bloody wrong for some centuries, though. Why's today any different?"

She stabbed at her lettuce and mumbled something I didn't catch.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said"—her voice implied I was being particularly obtuse—"that it is not my female duty to populate the world with children."

Ah.

"Oh, babe." I rescued her salad from an unsightly demise, set it aside, and drew her into a hug. She resisted for a moment, and then she sagged against me with a tired sigh, her blonde hair tickling my cheek. I let my gaze sweep over the trees and grass, a fresh, bright green that contrasted with red tulips in full bloom. "Your mum again?"

"Nah, it was Dad's turn this morning."

"Way to start the day on a fun note, huh?"

"Yeah." Her voice was thick. "I don't want children. Why is that so hard to understand?"

"Because it's about their wishes, not ours." My words felt like a well-worn record, the two of us trading similar reassurances whenever one of us was at wit's end.

"Look, kids are cute if they're someone else's." She fluttered a hand in the air, and this, too, was a familiar tune. "I'm happy to take them to the movies or the playground, no problem. As long as I can hand them back at the end of the day because they're not mine."

"I know," I said quietly.

"I've got two brothers!" She made it sound as if I wasn't well aware of the fact. "Make them responsible for keeping our genes alive and kicking!"

To be fair, her brothers were twenty-three and twenty—they'd likely face their own version of parental pressure in a few short years. As it wasn't what she needed to hear right now, I held my tongue.

There'd been moments when I'd wondered whether it was only to protect me that she still kept her two-year relationship with Amit a secret. She denied it, of course, but I couldn't shake the suspicion that I was holding her back. Yet I couldn't bring myself to strip my father of the illusion that all I needed was a little more time to step into marriage. Selfish.

Except…

God, it wasn't that simple, was it? If Cassandra and I ended our supposed engagement, people would wonder what was wrong with me. Even if we claimed she'd found love elsewhere, the gossip would inevitably start, tightening like a noose the longer I stayed single. It could turn the spotlight on Gale.

I couldn't do that to him. Nor to Christian and his two younger sisters—they were fifteen and twelve, for fuck's sake. I wouldn't be the reason they became targets for mockery, or worse. And so I was stuck, and Cassandra with me.

We sat in silence for a minute, the gentle hum of traffic from nearby Piccadilly mixing with passing conversations and the industrious chatter of sparrows. "I'm sorry," she said eventually. "For snapping at you. Clearly, I shouldn't be around people today."

I smiled into her hair. "True. Good thing I'm not people."

"No, you're not. You're my favourite human."

"Amit might object."

"Amit gets to see me naked on a regular basis. Trust me, he's not complaining." The lightness in her voice faded. "What are we going to do, hon? They're only going to put more pressure on us once you turn thirty, too. Like it's some kind of deadline."

Next month, yeah. And she was right—we couldn't postpone a decision forever.

Briefly, I closed my eyes. "I don't know."

"I love you. You're my brother from another mother." She squeezed my thigh for emphasis. "I really don't want to marry you."

"Right back at you." I covered her hand with my own, and another minute of silence spun out between us.

Then Cassandra sat up, wiping at her eyes. Her smile was wobbly. "Hey, did you know it was your father who came up with the Green Horizon Initiative?"

I rolled with the change of topic—not like I was keen to dissect our options either, one worse than the other. And no, I had not been aware. It felt like my dad's standard brand of political manoeuvring, though, so I couldn't say I was surprised either.

"He didn't tell me that, no. Your dad mentioned it?"

"Yes. Said that he presented it as his own brainchild to the government, as a small favour to your dad and because the idea had merit." Cassandra's voice took on a cynical edge. "Supposedly, it's proof that he's taking the alliance between our families seriously. And, oh—it's about time that I did, too."

"You and I are amazing allies," I told her. "No clue what his problem is."

"That we are."

Just not the kind of allies that satisfied our parents' standards. I sighed. "You know this only makes it worse, right? If you and I fail to get married, with my dad owing yours a favour ..."

"I'm aware," she said quietly. "Murphy's Law is a bitch, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

I had no response. A few sparrows hopped over in search of a handout. Cassandra picked some cashew nuts out of her salad and tossed them in their direction, which was met with raucous enthusiasm. When she spoke again, her smile seemed rather more steady. "Speaking of new horizons, how's Liam?"

I arched a brow at her. "Abrupt change of topic much?"

"Not really. You and he are allies of sorts, right? Mysteriously so, according to London Morning."

"Right—that."

"Yes," she mimicked my evasive tone. "That."

"Well." I hesitated before I dug out my phone to see whether he'd responded. He had—countering my insinuation about his maturity with a question.

‘Do you even grow body hair yet?'

"Oooh." Cassandra drew out the word like she was a gossipy character in an American high school movie. "Love the snark. Got to hand it to him—he's not in awe of you."

"He had a crush on me in school," I said, all dignity, and she laughed. Only the faintest trace of her earlier frustration lingered, so subtle I'd have missed it if not for knowing her this well.

"That's cute," she told me. "Did he send you anonymous love letters on Valentine's Day?"

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a romantic bone in his body." Not that we'd discussed his relationship experience, but something about the way he talked about university, about how he'd carried himself when walking into that pub a year ago…Yeah, no. I simply couldn't picture him gazing at another guy with a sappy smile and stars in his eyes.

"If you say so."

"I do." I tapped out a response and showed it to her. She gave me a thumbs up, so I sent it before I could change my mind.

‘Was that an invitation to send you a dick pic?"

We both stared at my screen as three little dots signalled that Liam was typing. ‘Been there, seen that.'

Cassandra snorted in a most unladylike manner. "Ask him if he wants another taste."

"Jesus, no." I lowered my phone and shook my head. "I'm not going to do that."

"Why?"

"Because he might shoot me down."

"Aww. It's like watching a little duckling take its first tottering steps on dry land." She graced me with her most indulgent smile. "Flirting means giving the other person a chance to shoot you down yet trusting them not to."

Okay, fine. Only the risk weighed far lighter with a stranger, when it essentially didn't matter.

"Well," I said instead. "Thing is, I specifically don't trust him not to shoot me down."

"He hasn't done it yet."

Hadn't he?

He sure hadn't rejected me a year ago, when I'd gracelessly thrown myself at him. And he hadn't rejected me in my office either, when heated words had escalated into a different kind of heat. Business partners, that's what he'd called us as he'd offered to buy me a drink, right after our presentation to the government—but we weren't, were we?

Before I could make up my mind, Liam sent another message. ‘Okay, but what do we do with that newsletter? It's bad, isn't it?'

It wasn't ideal. Cassandra's dad had called me at a quarter past eight this morning to tell me just that, and to discuss next steps. Was that why he'd laid into her afterwards?

‘Let's meet at my flat,' I replied. ‘Easier in person.'

Liam sent a thumbs-up, followed by, ‘What time?'

‘In an hour?'

Another thumbs-up was the extent of his response, and I tried not to read too much into it. Maybe he wasn't much of a writer.

I tucked the phone away and picked up my salad again, nudging Cassandra to do the same. She did so with notable disinterest, but at my pointed look, she shoved a forkful into her mouth and chewed with exaggerated emphasis.

"That's my girl," I told her, and she flipped me off, affection in her eyes.

"I'm fine, you know?"

"I know," I said, and I did. It had been years since she'd traded her teenage eating disorder for a more balanced devotion to fitness, but some memories you just didn't quite get over. Finding her doubled over the toilet, retching up her most recent meal, again, was among those memories.

Cassandra had been a constant in my life, always right there when I needed someone to lean on or pull me up on my rubbish. And then there was Liam, starting to morph from a one-night blunder into…something. A wildcard who, against all odds, was inching closer to my preciously small circle of trust.

I doubted it was mutual.

* * *

In true British fashion,I didn't tan. My skin went from creamy white to red, and back to creamy white. Liam, on the other hand? Two sunny, unseasonably warm weeks, and his face had taken on a light honey glow. It couldn't quite mask the tired circles under his eyes.

I stepped aside to let him into my flat.

"How've you been?" I asked, only to wonder if that sounded reproachful. It wasn't like I'd proposed a dozen get-togethers and he'd claimed to have better things to do. "Must be quite the challenge, working on so many prototypes at once."

He watched me close the door, his full focus on me for a few beats. Then he relaxed. "Yeah, it's been busy. And turns out our workshop is too small, so we expanded into the backyard. The mild weather's been a blessing."

Good thing their property was surrounded by high walls.

"Coffee?" I asked, already moving towards the kitchen corner. "And let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"You?" A frown coloured the question, and right, he'd hardly want me poking around his designs when no one had succeeded in copying them yet. Too bad—it felt like lately, all I did was talk, talk, talk. I could have used some proper, hands-on work.

I shook my head. "Never mind."

"No, I mean…" He trailed off. When I glanced over my shoulder, he was back to watching me as though I was a riddle that needed solving.

I turned back to the coffee machine, and for ten seconds, the noise of the grinder efficiently eliminated the option of a conversation. Then I tamped the coffee powder down, still with my back to him.

"Yes to the coffee," he said, rather belatedly. "And if you're serious about helping…"

Again, he trailed off. I busied myself with making his coffee—no sugar, a dash of milk, wasn't it? The robust, slightly bitter scent of fresh brew wafted through the space.

"If you're serious about helping," he restarted, "I actually could use a hand. With a couple of things." He sounded pained about admitting as much. "I'm not very powerful, right? I'm precise, I've got excellent control, but my magic reserves tap out too quickly. And Jack and Laurie—my siblings—they're not as precise because they're still young."

I didn't point out that Liam must have been around Jack's age when he'd invented the Aqua Reclaimer.

"So," I said instead, "you'd need me to do what, exactly?"

"To very carefully, very slowly, pour a controlled amount of magic into certain things—I'd have to show you." He leaned against the kitchen counter and shot me a tiny smile. "Your control is incredible."

Flattery, oh. I was stupidly susceptible, maybe because my father was so tight-fisted with his approval. "You've seen me in action only once," I told Liam, trying to hide just how pleased I was.

"Define action?" He moved on quickly, as though he hadn't intended to say that. "What I meant—once was enough. I mean, yeah, you were trying to show off and intimidate me?—"

"Not like it worked," I cut in, letting amusement twine around the words. "You called it a party trick. Other people who've seen me melt sand into glass were ready to sign whatever I pushed at them afterwards."

"Nah, I was impressed. Just didn't want to give you the satisfaction." A small grin creased the corner of Liam's eyes. "Also, I knew you weren't the type to keep beach souvenirs in your office. How often have you replaced that sand bottle?"

"A half-dozen times, maybe? It's a trick I reserve for special cases."

His grin widened and turned real. "I'm honoured."

"You should be." I took two steps towards him and handed over his coffee, our fingers brushing over the warm porcelain. He pulled his hand back quickly and took a sip, glancing away.

Hmm.

"So," he said. "Anyway. If you were willing to help with that? That'd be massive. I've already got a friend covering the earth aspects—George Sands? I want him on the Finsbury park area, for the record. But, anyway. If you can do fire, it frees me up to focus on the other two elements."

The other two…

Surely not. No way.

But.

"Air and water don't go together," I said, as though he didn't already know that. My breath stumbled. "You control air—I know you do. So there's no way you're controlling water."

Liam stiffened. Dismay flashed across his features before he masked it, and when he spoke, his voice was cool. "I never said I did. You misunderstood me."

I stared at him—how he wouldn't quite meet my eyes, how he'd gone a hint pale under his tan. It wasn't possible.

And yet.

"No." Slowly, I shook my head and took a step back. "I don't think I misunderstood you. Air and water, Liam? How?"

He closed his eyes and inhaled audibly, holding the air in his lungs for a second before he released it in a rush. "Fuck. I didn't mean to tell you that. You just—fuck."

"As a matter of fact," I said weakly, my brain grasping for humour like a lifeline, "I don't. We've established my lack of experience in that area."

Liam made a feeble attempt at a chuckle. "Right." Carefully, he set the coffee down on the kitchen counter and faced me, arms by his side. "Okay, listen. I didn't…I shouldn't have told you that. But the fact that I did probably means…Christ, it means I'm tired. My brain's just going, you know? All the time."

He carried the weight of his entire family.

It hadn't fully hit me until now just what that meant. I carried expectations, yes, but I wasn't responsible for designing our prototypes, for figuring out logistics and materials and suppliers, for multiple visits to the project sites to get a sense of how it all fit. No wonder his messages had been limited to essentials.

I uncrossed my arms. When had I crossed them? "You look tired."

"I am. God." His laugh was frayed around the edges. "But also…What I let slip just now? It probably means that I trust you, enough to let my guard down."

Something warm and bright fluttered in my stomach. "You trust me?"

"Please don't make me regret it."

"I won't tell anyone."

He ducked his head. "Thank you."

Gentle silence wove around us, lingering for a moment. I studied Liam's face and didn't look away when our eyes met. Air and water. Or…more? The way he'd been talking almost made it sound as if…But it couldn't be. My mind still refused to accept it.

Another second passed before I sent him a smile. "It's only fair, you know? You've been keeping my secret for a year."

His mouth turned down. "I wouldn't out someone against their will."

"I know." Leaning sideways against the counter, I took another second to observe him. "So you really control air and water?"

Hesitation crossed his face, then his chin firmed. "Also fire. And earth."

I swallowed thickly. "That's impossible."

"Is that a challenge?" His tone was playful, but with an undercurrent of seriousness.

"Maybe." Was it? I had no idea what the fuck I was saying—hell, I could barely feel my legs. All four elements. No one controlled all four elements.

"All right." He cast me a pointed look. "You've already seen me move a carpet, so that leaves three. Agreed?"

I nodded, mute.

"Good. Here we go, then."

Nothing happened for a second. Then a small pillar of coffee rose from his cup and drained away again.

"Water," I said quietly.

"Water," he agreed. He picked up a glass jar with loose tea leaves, holding them up for my inspection. For only a moment, they returned to a healthy, vibrant green before fading back to a dull brown.

I couldn't breathe.

"Earth," Liam said in my stead. He set the jar back down and unscrewed it to shake a handful of leaves into the sink.

"I believe you," I said.

"Good." His smile held the faintest note of smugness, and just like I'd expected, the leaves caught on fire. Without thinking, I stepped in and made them rise in a spiralling pattern, swirling faster and faster. The comfort of using my magic enveloped me like a safety blanket.

"Show-off," Liam muttered, but he sounded more amused than upset.

I let the leaves flutter into the sink, where they turned to ashes. Forming words took a moment. "Hardly. What I just did?" I bit my lip, the sting of teeth anchoring me. "Utterly conventional. What you did? An hour ago, I would have sworn it wasn't possible."

"Just party tricks." He shrugged. "I'm nowhere near as powerful as you."

"But you control all four elements. Jesus, Liam." My voice might have been slightly unsteady because Liam sent me a searching look. His expression softened.

"Do you need to sit down?"

"Possibly."

Definitely.

I headed for the sofa corner, where a two-seater and an armchair were tucked between old wood beams, facing the fireplace. Behind the armchair, a door led out onto the sunny balcony. The flat wasn't big, but it had everything I needed to get away for a little while.

After a second's consideration, I stepped out onto the balcony. Cut into the roof, it granted the kind of privacy I'd found immediately appealing. While it offered a view over the nearest church and an adjacent green space, the hip-high wall that ran all the way around meant that if I lay down on the ground, there was nothing but sky. I hadn't done much in terms of decoration—a small, round table of colourful metal and two chairs, that was it. Maybe I should get in an earth mage to spruce up the space with some greenery.

I sank onto one of the chairs, closed my eyes, and tipped my face into the warmth of the sun.

"You all right?" The scrape of the other chair suggested Liam had sat down as well.

"Yeah." I sent him a look from underneath my lashes. "Really, I'm fine. It's just…I always thought it was one of those fundamental truths, you know? And now it's not."

He tapped his fingers against the tabletop. "I don't think it's vastly different from, say, you also having some water abilities. Only for me, it's all four, and they're all at the same level."

I sat up to give him my full attention. "How did you know I control water?" Fire was what I advertised. Water? Not so much. It was common for people to make a secret of their powers, or the full extent of them—like having an ace up your sleeve.

"Just a lucky guess." Liam's gaze shifted away, and no, I didn't think so. The slight tension that pinched the corners of his mouth suggested otherwise.

It was strange to think that I was coming to know him.

I let it go for now. "How does it work? Your magic."

"Like everyone else's, I assume. Only it's all four instead of one dominant element with maybe a weak secondary one."

"Can you transfer energy from one element to another? Like, boost your reserves? You said something about how not having to handle fire and earth would allow you to focus on the other two."

"No more than you probably can between fire and water." He spread his fingers. "As in, yes, but it's very inefficient—like trying to heat a room while the window is open. It's more that each drain of my reserves is tiring, though, and it feels like it adds up. Draining two elements is tiring, draining three is worse, and if all four are drained, I just want to lie down and sleep for a century."

My family had spent decades perfecting a power circle to replenish magical resources overnight. I'd learned to draw it from memory when I was eight. Granted, I wasn't as good as Gale, who'd spent months poring over the theory until he managed to further tweak the circle, but I easily could have recreated it for Liam. It would have been akin to treason.

"Why keep it a secret?" I asked. "Wielding all four elements would get you quite some respect."

"My grandma Jean—you met her, remember?" A fond smile tugged at Liam's mouth. "She's always been forceful about that, even when I was little. Don't tell anyone."

Which hinted that she might have the same ability.

The question of how magic passed down through generations was still up for debate. While genes were the most obvious factor, exposure seemed to play a role as well—there'd been cases when a child adopted at a very young age had evolved to mirror the parents' brand of magic. And then there were cases when a family's power just seemed to fade away, as though magic had decided to pack its bags and move elsewhere. If I ever had children, they might very well share Gale's fate.

"Any idea why?" I asked.

Liam tucked his tongue up against his teeth, weighing me for a moment before he replied. "I always thought it might be a clue as to her actual father—her biological one, not the one who raised her."

"She was adopted?" Fairly unusual in the forties, when she would have been born. Unless, of course, her biological father had been lost to the war.

"Apparently so. I only learned of it a few years ago because my mum let it slip." Liam's eyes were very blue—I wasn't sure why my brain chose this particular moment to notice it. "So of course I went looking for references to magical families that controlled all four elements. Couldn't find anything, though."

"Where have you been looking?"

"Anywhere I could get my hands on."

Meaning publicly available books, most likely. That was hardly a basis for proper research. I'd browsed maybe a fifth of the books in our possession, but I was pretty certain there'd be something on notable magical families.

"Do you want me to check our library?" I asked Liam.

"You'd do that?" His brow furrowed. "Could it cause suspicion?"

"Me reading a book?" I shot Liam a small grin. "Maybe. But I'll claim it's something to do with the Initiative."

"In that case, that would be amazing. Thank you."

"You're welcome." My cheeks felt warm, so I let my gaze skim over the church roof. "Anyway, we should probably discuss the London Morning thing. I'm going to need some coffee first, though, and yours is probably cold."

"Coffee would be good, yeah. Strong, please?"

"Give me two minutes."

I rose and headed inside, grateful for a moment alone to process what I'd seen. It was…Christ. Still a little difficult to believe. It also altered my view of Liam—not as a person, no, or I'd be guilty of lying all those times I'd told Gale that magic didn't define who you were. But I'd been raised to revere magical power, and there'd been a small, shameful part of me that felt like at least in that respect, I had the upper hand.

While I wasn't among those who whispered that technomancy was dirty, I'd…Well. I had considered it lesser somehow, an imitation of the real thing. Now?

I wasn't so sure anymore.

* * *

"An interview?"Liam made it sound as though I'd suggested we shoot a hardcore porno and put it online with our real names attached. Funny, I hadn't taken him for a drama queen.

"Yes," I said calmly, fighting a smile. "An interview. Two, in fact—one with The Times, and one with The Evening Standard."

"No one said anything about interviews."

"It's a novel type of urban development affecting three London neighbourhoods. Some interest was to be expected."

Liam sighed, tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He'd taken off his jumper, nicely muscled arms on display and warm afternoon sun tangling in his hair. A small part of me wondered what he'd do if I leaned across the table, fisted a hand in his T-shirt, and pulled him into a kiss.

Third time's the charm.

"I don't think I'm going to be very good at it," he said.

"It'll be with friendly journalists, and we'll get their questions in advance." Up until this morning, I hadn't realised that it wasn't just select politicians that were informed about the existence of magic—the editors-in-chief of certain key publications knew, too. Alaric hadn't told me how their silence was guaranteed, and I hadn't asked. "Alaric suggested we keep it easy, wait until early May, so shortly before we begin construction. That way, it doesn't look like we're defending ourselves against the London Morning accusations. Just a few sound bites, a couple of pictures that show what the areas will look like—we'll draw from the models we already have. My assistant will arrange it."

A tangible moment of hesitation preceded another of Liam's sighs. "I'm guessing this is mandatory?"

"Well." I grinned at him, wide and obnoxious. "You can always choose to walk away from it all, of course."

He snorted, tone light. "Yeah, you'd like that."

"Actually, I wouldn't." That was more honest than I'd intended, but I meant it. For one, the Morgans' ideas elevated the concept. And it was nice not to be the sole face of this undertaking.

"Really?" Liam sounded flatly surprised, and I stifled a laugh.

"Yeah, really. Just don't tell my father."

"I have no intention of getting anywhere near your father—no offence."

"None taken." My gaze lingered on Liam's biceps until I realised what I was doing and dragged it away. I met his eyes. "Listen, can we make a rule that what's shared between us stays between us? No family or friends?" I paused. "Or lovers, I guess."

Was I fishing? Possibly.

"Like I'd have time for a…Honestly, Adam, who even says ‘lover' anymore?" Liam shook his head, a wry quirk to his mouth. "Anyway, you'd have to pay me, and well, to hit a club right now. I'd rather be sleeping."

It was irrelevant to me. I was focused on the project, not who Liam spent his nights with—or at least I should have been.

"Is that what it's like to turn thirty?" I asked, all friendly curiosity.

"Yep. Just wait until you're my age." He threw me a smile, then turned serious. "And yes, agreed. That seems like a useful rule."

"Good." I glanced down at my hands. "So, for your information…The original idea for the Green Horizon Initiative—seems my dad proposed it to Alaric, who took it forward with the government."

"Huh." Liam's lips formed a thin line. "Your dad told you that?"

"Cassandra did."

"What do you make of it?"

I wish I knew.

"Most likely that he saw a business opportunity and took it, with a side of wanting to put his mark on the city. And also that he's even more invested than I thought. My aunt too, I suppose—it's the kind of thing they would have planned together."

"Without you?" Liam didn't sound as though he doubted me, more like he was trying to understand the workings of my family. Good luck with that.

"I serve mainly decorative purposes."

"And you're fine with that?"

"No." I let my attention drift to the trees in the green space below us. "But I won't be a proper adult in their eyes until I'm ready to have a child, ideally two. Carry forward the family legacy and all."

"That sucks," Liam said quietly.

"Yeah, well." I slid him a weak smile. "It is what it is. Seems like you could actually use my help, so at least I'm not wholly useless."

"You're not useless at all." Frowning, Liam set his cup down with a small clink of porcelain. "Jesus, that's…No. You're incredibly powerful, Adam. You're also smart. They're idiots for not taking advantage of that."

It echoed what Cassandra had told me before, and not just once. But she was my best friend and therefore biased, whereas I was still not sure Liam even liked me. Coming from him, the words carried weight.

I gave a soft cough. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And I'm not just trying to butter you up, for the record."

"I know." My smile came more easily this time. "You're far too honest for that."

He sent me a sharp look. "I'll choose to take it as a compliment."

"It was."

"Oh." An exhalation more than a word.

Our eyes met across the table. It was like a sudden rush of dizziness, punch-drunk, reality blurring around the edges as my focus narrowed to this—Liam and the space between us. Balancing on a razor's edge. My bed was just a few steps away, and wouldn't that be…novel? Daylight. And a bed.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

I didn't dare move. I didn't dare blink. Somewhere far off, a car honked.

And then the church bells chimed the half-hour. Even though I was used to it, the sound sent a small shock through my veins.

Liam ducked his head. "So, uh. Two interviews?" Uncertainty wove through his question, and I needed a second to make sense of it.

Right.

Well, this sure felt a lot like Liam shooting me down. Maybe, if I'd had the guts to push for something—but I didn't.

"Yeah." I combed a hand through my hair. "They'll send the detailed questions by Monday. We can discuss them when I come over with Gale."

"Sounds good." Liam glanced at me, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows. Sunlight shone on his forehead and the bridge of his nose, sparking in his eyes and hair.

I liked him.

It registered almost absently, no real surprise attached to the thought. Of course I liked him. He was smart and resourceful, a true leader of his family while I just faked it. I also trusted him—which made him one of only three people in my life. I knew it wasn't the same for him, that his inner circle was bigger than mine and encompassed his parents and siblings, his grandmother, and likely more people. Unlike me, he wasn't hiding.

Maybe I'd been quiet for too long because Liam cleared his throat. "All right, I should get going."

I nodded. "Yeah. Busy time, right?"

"Yeah."

For a beat, neither of us moved. Then Liam smiled and got up. I followed slowly and told myself I wasn't disappointed. It was for the best. Our two previous hook-ups had been impulsive and fuelled by frustration—take that away and I'd be left floundering, no solid ground under my feet.

It wasn't worth the risk.

I walked Liam to the door and shut it behind him after we'd agreed on a time for Monday. See youthen. Once he'd left, I closed my eyes for a moment, a strange heaviness in my bones. I'd bought this flat two years ago and it had become my sanctuary, a place where I could decompress. It had never felt lonely before.

Toughen up, honey.

* * *

"Liam knows you're gay?"

"That's what I just said," I told Gale. "Minus the dramatic emphasis."

"But—" He stopped talking and hit the brakes when a lorry in front of us slowed down without warning. I propped one hand against the dashboard to steady myself. Ever since Gale had obtained his driver's licence, I let him take the wheel since he enjoyed driving. Specifically, he enjoyed driving fast. It was at odds with his quiet personality—a way to feel powerful and in control, perhaps. "But," he restarted, "how did he find out?"

Yeah, uh.

The first time Liam and I had hooked up, I hadn't told Gale because the entire thing had been tangled up with Dad pressuring me to start having kids, and Gale knew the pressure was exacerbated by his lack of magic potential. The second time, I hadn't told Gale because, well, he didn't know about the first time. But now that Liam knew Gale was aware of my sexuality, with Gale about to spend three days in Liam's orbit, overseeing the construction of the office? I better tell Gale before Liam did.

"We had a thing." No, that was overstating it. I corrected myself. "We hooked up a couple of times."

"Did you?"

"Eyes on the road," I said primly, and Gale snorted but complied. It was quiet for a second.

"Okay," he said then. "I don't need details, right, because no, thanks."

"Problem with the gay thing?" I interrupted before he could continue.

"No. Problem with the you're-my-brother thing."

That was fair.

I waved a hand. "Do go on."

"Too kind, oh brother dearest." It held a gentle note of mockery, his tone fond. "As I was saying, I don't need details. But you and Liam? How did that happen?"

I walked him through the Cliff Notes version of it, finishing just as we pulled into the Morgans' road. "Cat got your tongue?" I asked when several seconds of silence followed my explanation.

"Just thinking."

"Don't make it a habit."

"Only on Mondays when the moon is full." He pulled to a halt in front of the Morgans' gate. Fortunately, their defence didn't rely solely on the thick iron bars that I could have melted in seconds—I'd glimpsed several technical enhancements around the compound the other times I'd been here, although I didn't know what purpose most of them served. Maybe that was the point.

"So," Gale said just as the gate slid open for us. "Do you like him?"

"What are we—twelve?" I turned my attention to the cameras mounted on both sides of the gate, a drone docked next to one of them. It rose as our car began moving again, tracking us.

"Fine." Gale shot me an amused look. "Do you only want to fuck his brains out? Or do you want to talk for hours, kiss and hold hands and make sweet love in a bathtub while sipping red wine?"

"Is this how you picture gay relationships? Because if so, wow."

"Stop deflecting."

"But it doesn't matter, does it? Even if I did ‘like him',"—I inserted air quotes—"and even if it was mutual, which I doubt…"

"Why?" Gale asked. We parked in front of the house while the gate shut behind us, locking us in.

"Because we didn't exactly gel with each other at the beginning of this collaboration. I even pulled the sand bottle trick on him."

Gale shot me a brief grin, tinged with a trace of sadness. "And was he impressed?"

"Yeah." I let my mouth twitch into a smile. "But he hid it well."

"I kind of like this guy." Rather than get out of the car, Gale fixed me with a direct look. "Okay, fine. You started off on the wrong foot. But you got over it, he probably did too, and you already hooked up. Plus you offered our help in building his office."

"So they'll owe us," I said quickly.

He scoffed. "Maybe Dad and Eleanor bought that line, but I don't. You wanted him to like you."

I squashed the impulse to bristle like a hedgehog in full defence mode. "Bribing people into liking me is not my style."

Gale sighed. "You know that's not how I meant it."

He got it. Of course he did—sometimes I forgot that just like me, he'd been befriended by people who expected benefits. We'd both learned to spot them.

"Then how did you mean it?" I asked, more quietly. The drone was hovering above the hood of the car, peering at us through the windshield.

"You're new to flirting—or even liking anyone, for that matter." Gale grinned at me, wide and sweet. "You're out of your depth."

"You and Cassandra should get together sometime, paint your nails while you gossip about my love life."

"What love life?" Gale's tone was light. I was about to tell him I was in a committed relationship with zero drama, which could not be said about his last girlfriend, when Liam walked out of the house to meet us. He waved a hand at the drone, raising his voice so it carried through to us.

"Don't worry, she's friendly."

I nudged my door open while Gale asked, "Did he just refer to the drone like it's a dog?"

"Did you just refer to your drone like it's a dog?" I passed on to Liam as I got out. The drone did one loop around my head and then zoomed over to Gale's side of the car.

"Her name is Lila. If you don't pass inspection, she'll go for the eyes first."

"You may want to work on your skills as a host," I recommended. "As a general rule, people feel more welcome if you don't threaten them with killer tech."

"Says the guy who's got armed guards patrolling the grounds."

"Don't worry," I said. "They're friendly. If you pass inspection, that is."

"Good morning," Gale chimed in, instantly quieter now that it wasn't just the two of us.

Liam's expression softened. "Hey, great to see you again. Thanks for doing this."

"He's never this nice to me," I informed Gale in a loud whisper that was meant to carry. "Didn't know he had it in him."

"I'm exactly as nice as you deserve," Liam said. Something about the curve of his mouth implied an invitation. And what if I'm naughty? I caught Gale's arched eyebrow and swallowed the innuendo on the tip of my tongue.

We moved into the kitchen to discuss the day's plan over truly atrocious coffee. "Not everyone has space for a coffee machine the size of a Chinese car," Liam told me when I complained, and that was valid.

But also…"If you offer this to clients, you won't have any."

"I'd rather my clients choose substance over style." While Liam strove for a grave tone, I caught the glint of a smile in his eyes.

"Sometimes, Liam, the aesthetics of competence are more important than the evidence of it."

"Is that the Harrington motto?"

I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle a grin, toasting him with my cup. "Got it in one."

"Do your meetings always go like this?" Gale asked.

"Only the good ones," I told him.

Gale snorted. "And the bad ones?"

I glanced at Liam just as Liam glanced at me. Heat twisted in my gut. ‘You're a second from dropping to your knees for me.'

"Never mind," Gale muttered, a faint note of amusement in his voice. "I don't think I want to know."

One corner of Liam's mouth lifted as he looked away. I remembered to do the same, stomach a tinge heavy with something I couldn't name.

It was nothing.