Vynepip

“And I didn’t realize you’d be here. Is everything okay?”

“Peachy,” he says, tight-lipped, and forces a smile onto his face. “You gonna introduce me to your friend?” And just like that, his tone turns bubbly. Familiar. But as he stands, you can’t help but notice that his posture seems overly stiff.

Maybe you should send Sylus away. Clearly Caleb was wanting to have a private conversation. “I…”

Caleb’s gaze flicks between you and Sylus, expectant.

You knew this day would come, of course, when the two of them crossed paths. You just didn’t think it would be today. “Caleb, this is… um…” What should you even say? Do you introduce Sylus as your boyfriend? As Skye? As an informant? Would Caleb even buy that last one?

Before you can decide on the least damaging course of action, Sylus reaches past you, extending his hand toward Caleb in greeting, and says, “Sylus.”

You blink, stunned by his honesty. And then you panic. What if Caleb knows that name? What if Caleb knows about the warrant?

“I take it you’re the one she was grieving for months on end?” Sylus continues, his eyes—slightly narrowed—dipping to the insignia on Caleb’s uniform. “Colonel, is it? You look good for a dead guy.”

Caleb’s gaze jumps to you— confusion mingled with hurt. “You told him?” he says softly. Disbelievingly. Before you can explain, he lets out a sigh and turns his attention back to Sylus. Reaffixes his smile. “Doesn’t matter. If she trusts you, I trust you.”

Sylus takes his hand back and hooks his thumbs in his pockets. “Aww, I’m touched.”

You have got to talk to Sylus about his penchant for kicking the hornet’s nest.

Thankfully, Caleb ignores the quip. “As you can see”—he gestures to himself—“I’m not dead. And Caleb will do just fine.”

“You sure about that?” Sylus says pointedly, an arch in his brow. “I know how you military brats love your titles.”

You smack his arm. “Sylus.”

He responds with a subdued chuckle— the same one he lets out whenever one of his business partners tries to fuck him over during a negotiation. “Oh, I’m sure just Caleb can handle a little good-natured teasing, kitten.”

“Kitten, huh?” Caleb looks Sylus up and down, a note of distaste souring his too-cordial smile. “So you’re the guy who’s fucking my sister.”

“Caleb, oh my God—”

“It’s all right, sweetie.” Sylus seems unbothered— amused, even. His smirk deepens a bit as he shifts his weight and tips his head back. Assessing. “I’d be bitter too if I let you slip through my fingers.”

Caleb’s brows shoot up. “Sorry?”

You have a similar reaction, mouth dropping open and eyes going wide at the implication in Sylus’s statement. Has he lost his damn mind? You haven’t told Sylus much about Caleb, but Sylus knows the two of you grew up together.

“I liked you better when you were taking shots,” Sylus says. “Playing dumb doesn’t suit you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Sylus folds his arms. “Those shrinks at the Academy left some rather interesting notes in your file about a certain, shall we say, fixation you have on—”

“Watch it,” Caleb snarls.

Wait— Academy shrinks? From when Caleb was going through flight school? Did Sylus run a fucking background check on Caleb? Who are you kidding, of course he did.

“Or what?” Sylus taunts, and you realize too late that he’s trying to provoke Caleb. “Gonna throw me in the brig… Colonel?”

That does it.

Caleb strikes first, lashing out with his Evol, but Sylus is quick to counter, and then the two of them are locked in a stalemate, the floorboards groaning under the press of Caleb’s gravity and Sylus’s energy whipping through the air like a live wire. You’ve never actually seen Caleb turn the full force of his Evol on someone, and the sight is both breathtaking and terrifying— the way the world itself seems to want to bend a knee for him. How long has he been able to do this?

Sylus grins, though his hands are shaking with the effort to contain Caleb’s outburst. “That little trick won’t work on me, pup. But nice try.”

The area around them is turning volatile, and a pressurized bolt of their combined Evols ricochets off the faucet and shatters a mug you left in the sink. If this keeps up, they’re going to tear your place apart.

“Enough!” you shout and move to wedge yourself between them, desperate to put an end to this ridiculous spat. And maybe it’s your voice, or maybe it’s your nearness, but they both dismiss their Evols and stagger several steps backward, panting.

At least they’re alive.

But what an unmitigated disaster.

You whirl on Sylus. “What has gotten into you?” Throughout your scolding, his gaze remains locked on Caleb, that polite veneer of diplomacy gone. Regardless of what Caleb is to you, Sylus has categorized him as a threat. And you know exactly how Sylus tends to deal with those. “Caleb and I are family. You’ve got the wrong idea.”

Sylus glances down at you, and whatever he sees must disarm him because he looks back at Caleb, cocks his head, and says, “She doesn’t know, does she?”

“Know what?” you ask. When Sylus doesn’t answer, you turn halfway to face Caleb. His jaw is set and he’s glaring daggers at Sylus, but there’s no mistaking the guilt in his expression— the same flavor of shame as whenever Gran used to catch him in a lie. “Know what?” you say again, an accusation this time, the wobble gone from your voice as your brows pinch together.

Silence unfurls between the three of you, sticky and unpleasant. Caleb’s throat bobs, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. Just continues glaring at Sylus.

“It seems you two need to have a chat,” Sylus finally says, then slides his hand along your jaw and drops a kiss on the side of your head. As his lips are pressed against your hair, he adds a whispered, “I’ll call you later.”

An urge to protest bubbles up inside you. This is not how your evening was supposed to go. “But…”

“We’ll reschedule,” comes Sylus’s reply, and then he’s leaving— gathering up his coat and slipping out the door.

You turn to Caleb, equal measures annoyed and baffled. Whatever patience you might have afforded him has been burned through, courtesy of him wrecking your plans on the first night off you’ve had in two weeks. “Talk,” you order.