Despite her words, Sienna's glare softened the moment her eyes landed on Kael.
She moved to him and, before her protest could find voice, folded into his arms. Clinginess was nothing new between them.
Kael chuckled and steadied her. After a beat she pulled back, feigned indignation, then grumbled.
"Do you know how insane you look, making people do all that?"
He didn't answer with logic; Sienna would have rolled her eyes at that. He smirked instead. "You came anyway."
She pretended to be annoyed, then hugged him again, hiding a grin. Finally satisfied, she pulled away and dropped into the chair beside him.
"Enough time with your beloved codes, or are you finally socializing?" she teased. "Tell me — how long has it been since we actually met?" She leaned in, ready to pester him about his life. "New girlfriend? Someone who understands your cold, workaholic soul?"
Sienna's questions came faster than his answers because she'd always been like that — all curiosity, all flame. Kael only rolled his eyes. "It's been a month. Stop exaggerating." He didn't offer more; no need. He'd explain when everyone was here.
Before she could probe further, footsteps announced the next arrival.
Derek pushed through the door like a small weather system: slightly roughed-up jacket, hair untamed, but nothing about him was cheap — the wear was deliberate. He waved both hands like a man making up for being late. "It's been ages!" he said, mock-lamenting as he took in Kael and Sienna. "I called, but you were deep in that game of yours."
He gave Sienna a theatrical bow. "I watched your latest reel. Absolutely killer — the lighting, the cuts. You'll hit a million followers in, what, two years? Maybe twenty months if you hustle."
Sienna narrowed her eyes, slid out of her seat, and planted a quick, practiced punch on his arm — playful, precise. Derek yelped, flopped back a step, and hitched his hands up as if asking for mercy. "No—no—mercy!" His grin told everyone this was routine banter, not a fight.
Kael watched, amused. Derek's performance loosened the room; the tension that had been threaded into the space eased a notch.
The next man arrived without a spectacle. Darius moved in with the quiet assurance of someone used to being noticed without demanding it: dark skin, an expensive cut of suit, long coat slung over his shoulders. He took a quick inventory at a glance, then fixed Kael with something like genuine concern.
"On the way here I thought about it," Darius said, sliding into a chair. "This is the first of your gatherings — initiated by you, and in a place that guarantees silence. Which begs the question: are we walking into trouble?" His tone was steady; this was the kind of man who measured risk by facts, not fear.
Kael's reply was a half-smile. "Relax. Nothing critical. Let the last two arrive; I'll explain everything then."
Darius nodded and settled, his presence calming the small chaos. Derek resumed his theatrics at the end, full of inflated remorse that earned nothing but laughter.
Conversation unspooled naturally for a few minutes — small talk, one-liners, the sounds of friends sliding into old grooves. Then another door opened and Ethan stepped in: nondescript, neatly dressed, the sort of guy who didn't try to be seen but looked like he'd checked his outfit twice. He shrugged off a coat.
"Had dinner with my wife, ran it short so I could make this," he said, plopping down. "Hope it's worth leaving her mid-entrée."
Kael snorted. "We don't gather every day. Chill."
Sienna jumped in like a live wire. "It's been two years for you, Ethan — what's your excuse?" she jabbed. The room laughed; their rhythm sharpened. Ethan shot back with the precise bite she'd been waiting for. "Marry before you preach, Sienna." He grinned. "Or date first? Want me to set you up?"
Sienna glanced at Kael, eyebrows lifting — half apology, half scoreboard check. He didn't react. She settled for glaring at Darius instead, which only fed the group's laughter.
The last arrival was a low, calm ripple rather than a splash. Vivian walked in with jeans, a v-neck, and a long coat — red hair loose around her shoulders. Her entrance had none of Sienna's flash or Derek's theatrics. She smiled and scanned the room, warm and easy.
"Looks like I'm late," she said, slipping into the circle.
Sienna made a face and puffed her cheeks theatrically. Derek, suddenly flustered, straightened and offered a small bow. "You have arrived, ma'am?" he blurted, then stepped forward and kissed Vivian's cheek like someone retrieving a throne. The group broke into affectionate teasing. Sienna giggled; Ethan looked relieved; Darius smiled; Kael observed.
Vivian slid into the seat Derek vacated without fuss. She took him off duty with one cool motion. "Thanks, Derek. You're too much," she said, amused.
With everyone present — six in all, the room softened further. Conversation folded into itself, overlapping, messy, warm: talk about work, the game, the usual needle-thread of insults and compliments that keeps a group sane. Kael offered an occasional comment, brief and precise, and mostly listened.
The LEDs hummed behind them, the black room absorbing the sounds. Boots clicked on concrete. A trash can rattled in the corner when someone shifted. The smell of coffee and old smoke threaded through the colder sterility; in one corner someone had left a travel mug, steam ghosting from its lip. The group's voices rose and fell like something alive finding rhythm again.
It wasn't tidy. It wasn't proper. It was exactly what Kael had wanted: people who would notice details, ask awkward questions, and not let him sit on an island of his own making.
When the chatter dipped for a breath, Kael cleared his throat.
"All right," he said. Silence tightened like a held breath. "We're not here for small talk tonight."
Heads turned. The angle shifted; the banter cooled. Sienna folded her legs under her, leaning forward. Derek actually wiped a mock tear from his cheek. Ethan set his coffee down. Vivian angled to listen. Darius's face sharpened.
Kael's voice dropped to a level that made everyone lean in — not dramatic, just procedural, the tone of someone used to giving directives.
"We've got a situation," he said. "I pulled you here because I need options — minds, favors, and absolute discretion. I'll run through what I have, what I need, and you tell me if you can help. No lecture. No moralizing. Just answers."
He looked at each of them in turn. "Start with the obvious: if I say yes, do you do what's necessary?"
They answered in the way friends who have fought for the same cause always answer: with a reluctant, automatic "Yes." Then the room went small and focused, every face a tool ready for the work.