I thought about Sloane. About the Bond Resonance humming between us. About the night we’d spent together and the morning after and every complicated feeling that had emerged from both.
"No," I said. "It’s not going to be a problem."
Petra studied me for another long moment, then nodded once. "Good. The faculty liaison should be arriving shortly. Try to look professional."
She returned to her seat and opened her planner again, effectively ending the conversation. I sat in the silence she’d created, thinking about the web of relationships I’d built since arriving at Halloran and wondering which threads would hold and which would snap when the pressure increased.
The door opened and Steele walked in with her coffee and her usual energy, bringing the meeting officially into session. But even as I focused on the agenda items and the coordination requirements and the logistics of the Crucible exercise, part of my attention remained on Petra Lang and the way she’d looked at me when I said the word survival.
Like she recognized something. Like she understood something she hadn’t expected to understand.
The meeting lasted two hours. By the end of it, I had a clearer picture of what the Crucible would involve and a marginally better working relationship with my co-representative. Petra and I had managed to agree on three separate items without arguing, which felt like progress.
I found Sloane waiting in the hallway outside the faculty building.
She was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and her pink hair catching the late afternoon light, and the moment she saw me, the Bond Resonance flared with a possessiveness so intense it was almost physical. She pushed off the wall and closed the distance between us in three quick steps.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
"How was the meeting?"
"Productive. Petra and I managed to be in the same room for two hours without violence."
"Impressive." But her voice was flat, and her eyes were searching my face for something I couldn’t quite identify.
"Sloane."
"You were with Felicity." Not a question. A statement. "Earlier. In the cafeteria."
The Bond Resonance meant she’d felt something through our connection. Probably nothing specific, just a general sense of my emotional state shifting in ways that suggested proximity to someone who affected me.
"We talked," I said. "About Percy. About the Crucible. Nothing happened."
"I know nothing happened." Her jaw tightened. "I would have felt it if something happened. That’s not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
She looked away, and I could see the conflict playing out across her features. Sloane Fitzgerald, who had spent nine years watching me without acting, who had agreed to an arrangement that went against every possessive instinct she possessed, who had told me she loved me in the darkness of her room while her body trembled against mine.
"I don’t know," she admitted quietly, her voice carrying a vulnerability that made my chest tighten. "I just... I needed to see you. I needed to remember what you look like when you’re looking at me and not someone else."
Something cracked open in my chest. The weight of nine years pressed against the moment, all those careful boundaries she’d maintained dissolving in the face of what the Bond Resonance was making her feel.
I stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her shampoo and feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Close enough that the Bond Resonance flared between us with an intensity that made my pulse spike. "I’m looking at you now."
"I know." Her voice was small, almost fragile in a way Sloane never allowed herself to be around anyone else. "It helps."
I kissed her in the hallway outside the faculty building where anyone could see us. Her response was immediate and total. She made a sound against my mouth that was half relief and half desperation, her hands fisting in my shirt and pulling me closer with a strength that would have been uncomfortable if I hadn’t wanted her just as close. The Bond Resonance sang between us with a harmony that nothing else could replicate, a feedback loop of emotion and need that made it impossible to tell where my feelings ended and hers began.
"I’m yours," I said against her lips, meaning it in ways that would have terrified me a week ago. "That hasn’t changed. That won’t change."
"Promise." The word came out breathless and demanding at once.
"I promise."
She kissed me again, harder this time, with the edge of teeth that she used when her competitive nature needed an outlet. I let her take what she needed because Sloane Fitzgerald had been waiting nine years and she deserved to be greedy now that she finally had what she wanted. Her fingers tangled in my hair and her body pressed against mine with a certainty that left no room for doubt about what she was claiming.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing harder than the situation strictly warranted, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with something that looked dangerously close to satisfaction.
"Better?" I asked.
"Getting there." But the tension in her shoulders had eased fractionally, and the possessive edge to the Bond Resonance had softened into something warmer. "You’re not allowed to spend that much time with her without me around."
"Felicity’s nice."
"I know she’s nice." Sloane’s jaw tightened. "That’s the problem."
"Ahem."
We broke apart to find Petra Lang standing approximately ten feet away with her planner clutched to her chest and an expression that suggested she’d witnessed something she wished she hadn’t. Her emerald eyes were wide, and there was a faint flush across her cheekbones that could have been embarrassment or something else entirely.
"Belmont. Fitzgerald." Her voice was perfectly controlled despite the obvious discomfort radiating from her posture. "I see you’ve... reconnected."
"Petra." Sloane’s tone carried a warning I recognized from nine years of watching her assert dominance. "Something you needed?"
"I left my pen in the conference room." Petra’s eyes flickered between us with an intensity that didn’t quite match her neutral expression. "I was returning to retrieve it."
"Then retrieve it." Sloane’s arm wrapped around my waist possessively. "We’ll be here."
Petra stared at us for another beat, something unreadable passing behind her emerald eyes. Then she walked past us toward the faculty building, her heels clicking against the floor with a rhythm that sounded slightly faster than usual.
"She’s going to be a problem," Sloane said once Petra was out of earshot.
"She’s my co-representative. We have to work together."
"I know." Sloane’s grip on my waist tightened fractionally. "That’s why she’s going to be a problem."