Page 72 of The Next Lie

Ever gives him a look.

“What?” Shiloh asks. “I’m building confidence.”

“You’re building delusion,” Ever says.

“Same foundation.”

I drink half the bottle and pretend not to love them a little for being ridiculous.

Inside, Blackwood House is cool and too quiet. Cal is somewhere upstairs. Shiloh disappears toward the kitchen with a promise involving food, which I would mock if my stomach didn’t immediately betray me by growling.

I’m halfway to the stairs when I see Nash through the open study door.

He is standing behind his desk, one hand braced against the papers in front of him, phone in the other. His coffee sits untouched beside his elbow, no longer steaming. His jaw is tight in that specific way that means someone, somewhere, is about to have a very bad afternoon.

I stop in the doorway. “Have you eaten today?”

His eyes lift. “I’m fine.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Because it’s not your concern.”

“Wrong. You’re meaner than a snake when your blood sugar drops.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m always mean.”

“Sure, but you’re getting old, and sometimes you need to watch your protein and carbs and stuff.”

For a second, nothing changes. Then his mouth moves. Barely.

I run.

In the kitchen, Shiloh has a plate waiting for me. Eggs, toast, fruit, bacon arranged like he channeled Martha Stewart.

I grab the plate.

“Yank,” he says.

“I’m stealing this.”

“That was yours.”

“Then I’m reassigning it.”

His gaze flicks past me toward the study, and his smile softens into something far too knowing. “Want me to make another?”

“Obviously.”

I carry the plate back before I can think better of it and set it on the corner of Nash’s desk.

He looks at the food.

Then at me.

“Eat, Emperor,” I say. “You need your strength if you’re going to keep bossing me around.”

His gaze stays on mine for a beat too long. “You taking care of me, little wolf?”