The lottery kid who’d sohow beaten Blair’s elite squad. The nobody who’d caught Vale’s personal attention. The student whose rapid improvent raised questions that led to uncomfortable answers.
Misato pulled on fresh clothes, her uniform crisp and professional. The li green tie felt like armor against the day ahead. In the mirror, she looked like what she was supposed to be. Competent squad captain. Reliable instructor. Soone who had everything under control.
The reflection lied with perfect confidence.
Her phone buzzed. Jace: "Survived Vale’s warm-up. Actual training was attempted murder. Coffee in 20?"
She typed back quickly: "I’ll bring the good stuff. You’ll need it."
Twenty minutes to figure out how to act normal around him. How to pretend that holding him last night hadn’t felt like coming ho after years of being lost. How to ignore the way her pulse jumped whenever she thought about his arms around her.
Professional distance. Squad leaders maintained appropriate boundaries with their team mbers. They didn’t develop feelings for students they were supposed to be guiding and protecting.
They definitely didn’t lie awake at night thinking about what it would feel like to kiss soone who was clearly involved with two other people.
Misato grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. Coffee with Jace. Strategic planning for handling Cassandra’s investigation. Absolutely nothing else.
Her heart rate suggested otherwise, but hearts were notoriously bad at following orders.
The campus quad buzzed with morning energy. Students moved between buildings in their color-coded uniforms, conversations mixing with the sound of fountain water and distant training exercises. Normal academy life, proceeding like the world wasn’t about to get significantly more complicated.
She spotted Jace before he saw her. He crossed the quad with that new confidence he’d developed over the past few weeks. His posture was different now. Shoulders back, head up, moving like soone who belonged here instead of soone apologizing for taking up space.
Vale’s training was already showing results. His uniform fit better, the fabric no longer straining across his midsection. His face had lost the soft roundness that marked him as a lottery winner fresh from civilian life. Sharp jawline. Defined cheekbones. Eyes that held steady when they t hers across the distance.
Eyes that made her stomach flip in ways that had nothing to do with coffee and strategic planning.
"You look like you went ten rounds with a gate boss," she called out as he approached.
"Worse." He rolled his shoulders and winced. "Vale’s idea of a warm-up. I think he introduced to muscle groups I didn’t know existed. Several of them are now filing formal complaints."
The joke pulled a laugh out of her before she could stop it. When had he gotten funny? When had his sense of humor stopped being defensive sarcasm and started being actual charm?
They walked toward the campus cafe together. Their steps matched naturally. Like they’d done this a hundred tis instead of just twice. The morning sun caught the copper highlights in his brown hair, turning it darker gold at the edges. She caught herself staring and forced her attention back to the path ahead.
Not helpful. Staring was not part of the strategic planning agenda.
"So Vale actually worked you over." She kept her tone light. Professional. "That’s progress. He usually just threatens first-years until they cry or transfer."
"Oh, he threatened. Multiple tis. I’m just too stubborn to process threats correctly." He grinned. "Apparently that makes ’coachable’ instead of ’terminally stupid,’ which is the highest complint I’ve ever received from him."
"How bad was it really?" she asked.
"Bad enough that I’m questioning whether elite training is worth the risk of permanent injury." His smile took the complaint out of the words. "But I survived. That apparently puts ahead of thirty percent of first-years who try his program."
The pride in his voice was unmistakable. Vale’s approval ant sothing to him. It should.
"He sees sothing in you," she said. "Vale doesn’t do charity work."
"Yeah, that’s what worries . His kind of attention cos with expectations I’m not sure I can et."
They reached the cafe, and Jace held the door open for her. The small gesture sent warmth through her chest. Polite. Considerate. When had he started thinking about things like that?
The cafe humd with student conversations and the hiss of espresso machines. Morning rush in full swing, but they found a table near the window where they could talk without being overheard.
"Double shot aricano," she told him. "No sugar."
"Got it." He headed for the counter, and she watched him go. The way he moved now was different. Purposeful. Like soone who knew exactly where he belonged and what he was doing there.
When he returned with their drinks, she was ready with the professional mask firmly in place.
"We need to talk about Cassandra," she said without preamble.
His expression shifted, playfulness replaced by serious attention. "How bad is this going to get?"
"Diamond-tier bad. She’s not here for a friendly campus tour." Misato wrapped her hands around the hot cup, using the warmth to anchor herself. "Her father wants answers about your improvent. She’s going to find them."
"What kind of answers?"
"The kind that explain how a lottery winner went from barely functional to beating elite squads in three weeks." She lowered her voice. "Cassandra isn’t stupid. She’ll see patterns. Question the right people. Push until sothing breaks."
Jace was quiet for a long mont, staring into his coffee like it might contain solutions to impossible problems.
"What do I tell her?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing beyond what any student would know." Her voice carried the authority of soone who’d survived worse situations through careful planning. "Be boring. Forgettable. Give her no reason to dig deeper."
"And if that doesn’t work?"
The question sat between them like a blade waiting to fall. Because they both knew it wouldn’t work. Cassandra Davenport hadn’t traveled here to be satisfied with boring explanations and forgettable interactions.
She’d co to find weakness. To exploit whatever advantage Jace was using and turn it against him.
"Then we deal with the consequences," Misato said. "Together."
The word felt heavier than it should. Together implied partnership beyond squad dynamics. Shared risks and mutual protection that crossed professional boundaries into territory she wasn’t supposed to explore.
Jace t her eyes across the small table, and for a mont she forgot about Diamond-tier investigators and professional distance and all the reasons this couldn’t work.
For a mont, she just wanted to reach across and touch his hand.
Instead, she lifted her coffee cup and took a sip that burned all the way down.
Professional distance. That was the plan.
Her heart clearly had other ideas.
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