The knock came at seven forty-three on a Saturday morning, which was a war crime under any reasonable interpretation of the Geneva Conventions.
I had been awake since six because Demigod did not care about weekends and my brain had been running scenarios about the Crucible at one hundred Intelligence for ninety minutes straight while my body lay perfectly still in expensive sheets that Diane had selected and that still carried the faint botanical traces of yesterday’s visit.
The Bond Resonance had tracked Sloane through her morning run at five thirty, her shower at six twelve, and her current position in the 1-A cafeteria where she radiated the specific contentment of someone eating a stack of protein pancakes while wearing the oversized hoodie she stole from my closet three days ago and refused to return because it smelled like me and she found this unacceptable yet also non-negotiable.
I had plans for the day. Review Percy’s insurance appendix. Test Spectral Reach range limits at Field Zeta. Maybe call Diane about the Reyes follow-up. Definitely not think about the photograph Felicity sent last night that my visual cortex had helpfully preserved in four-K resolution behind my eyelids.
The knock came again. Three rapid impacts with a fist rather than knuckles, a percussive signature I recognized.
"Belmont. Open up. Emergency."
Caden Holt’s voice carried the register of someone who had been awake for eleven minutes and considered this a personal accomplishment worthy of celebration.
I crossed the room in two strides, unlocked the deadbolt, and opened the door to find Caden leaning against the doorframe in a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned over a white tank top, board shorts, and slides that looked like they’d survived a skateboard accident. His blonde hair achieved new heights of defiance against gravity. His hazel eyes held the specific brightness of someone about to ruin my entire schedule.
"What emergency."
"Boyz Day."
I stared at him for a full second while my one hundred Intelligence processed whether I had experienced a stroke or whether Caden Holt had genuinely just said those words to my face at seven forty-three on a Saturday morning. "That’s not a thing."
"It is absolutely a thing." Caden pushed past me into the apartment without waiting for an invitation, performed a quick survey of the space, and dropped onto my sage reading chair with the boneless confidence of a golden retriever claiming a couch. "It’s a documented cultural phenomenon. Percy has research."
Percy Mendoza materialized in the doorway like he’d been waiting for his cue, which he had, because Percy waited for cues with the patience of a predator and the punctuality of a train schedule. His navy blue hair was combed flat, his cargo shorts were ironed, and he held a printed document in both hands with the gravity of someone presenting a dissertation defense.
"Studies conducted at the University of Pennsylvania in 2019 demonstrated that regular male bonding activities reduce cortisol levels by an average of twenty-three percent and increase oxytocin production by fourteen percent," Percy began, his brown eyes finding a middle distance where the data lived. "The Journal of Social Psychology published a meta-analysis in 2021 confirming that peer group recreation among males between ages seventeen and twenty-four correlates with improved stress resilience, enhanced cooperative task performance, and a measurable decrease in risk-seeking behavior in professional contexts. Additionally, a longitudinal study from—"
The words dissolved into undifferentiated noise, a wall of academic citation that my brain cataloged as wah wah wah wah peer bonding wah wah cortisol wah wah something about the Finnish military wah wah. Percy continued without pause because Percy did not require feedback to sustain output, only the awareness that someone occupied the same physical space as his mouth.
"—which suggests that the psychosocial benefits scale linearly with group size between four and seven participants, after which diminishing returns—"
"Percy." I held up one hand. "I can go."
His mouth closed mid-syllable. The printed document lowered six inches. A smile crossed his face with the rarity and value of a solar eclipse. "Excellent. I’ll add your compliance to the data set."
Caden kicked his slides against the arm of my reading chair and grinned. "See? Science says you have to hang out with us. You can’t argue with science, Belmont. That’s just being ignorant."
"I can absolutely argue with science. I argue with federal classification systems for sport."
"Different department. Today you’re in the recreation department and the recreation department says we’re doing Boyz Day." Caden pulled out his phone and fired off a text with two thumbs. "Eden’s in. Finn said, and I quote, ’sure whatever.’ Marco’s bringing snacks. We’re meeting at the front gate in forty minutes."
I looked between Caden, who occupied my reading chair like he paid rent, and Percy, who had already produced his notebook and was documenting the timestamp of my verbal agreement with a blue pen. Outside my east-facing window, Halloran’s campus caught the Saturday morning light in a way that made the white concrete glow and the training fields look peaceful enough to forget that twenty teenagers with combat Aspects regularly destroyed practice equipment on those grounds.
The Bond Resonance pulsed warm and steady from Sloane’s direction. She’d feel my mood shift if I went from plotting to relaxed, and she’d probably approve because she’d spent most of yesterday evening reminding me through the bond that I was a terrible person while also being the person she loved most, a contradiction she maintained with the conviction of someone whose primary Aspect involved making things explode.
Felicity would text within the hour asking where I was. Camille would notice my absence from the common room and file it. Petra would check the fourth floor conference room at the time I didn’t show up and mark it in her planner with an emerald pen. Rina would look for me at the fountain during quiet hours and find the bench empty.
I could spend Saturday managing the five to seven women whose names the System tracked through Temptation Gauges I couldn’t disable, or I could put on shoes and leave the building with five guys who wanted nothing from me except my presence and possibly my wallet.
"Where are we going?"
Caden’s grin widened past what his bone structure should have permitted. "Surprise."