Page 50 of Something Worth Keeping
“When did the others leave?” Julian demanded.
“Jules…”
“When?”
Rook sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ten minutes ago. Thorn called with confirmation of Vane’s location at the Highway 47 industrial park. Cillian, Thorn, and Silas are enroute.” He held up a hand before Julian could speak. “And before youask, no, you can’t go after them. That’s why I’m here to make sure you stay safe while they handle this.”
“So I’m being babysat.”
“Protected,” Rook corrected. “There’s a difference. You agreed to it yesterday.”
The shadow around Julian’s fingers pulsed, agitated. Julian focused on it, trying to push emotion through the bond - anger, worry, the demand that Cillian turn around and explain himself properly.
Nothing clear came back. Just that same flutter of determination, now layered with something that might have been regret.
“He should have told me,” Julian said.
“Yeah.” Rook’s agreement was surprisingly gentle. “He should have. But he’s never had anyone to hold him accountable before. Cut him a little slack.”
Julian wanted to argue, but Rook had a point. Cillian operated on instinct - protect the mate, eliminate the threat, keep Julian safe at all costs. That didn’t include consulting Julian about strategy, because in Cillian’s framework, Julian was precious, not operational.
It was logical. It was infuriating. It was exactly the kind of possessive-but-not-controlling behavior Julian had praised him for.
“I don’t like this,” Julian said.
“Join the club.” Rook moved to the espresso machine. “Want another coffee? I mostly stress-bake when I’m worried, but I can make a mean latte.”
“You’re thinking about stress-baking?”
“Yes. Croissants, I think. Possibly some cinnamon rolls.” Rook’s normal grin returned. “I know, I know – aterrifying shadow-creature who bakes pastries. Very threatening.”
Despite everything, Julian felt his lips twitch. “What’s your favorite thing to bake?”
“Ooh, tactical subject change. I like it.” Rook began pulling ingredients from cabinets with the ease of someone who spent significant time in the kitchen. “Probably sourdough bread. The process is meditative: feeding the starter, monitoring fermentation, shaping the dough. Very soothing for an ancient being who occasionally rips people apart.”
“That’s...” Julian searched for words. “Actually, that makes sense. The precision and patience required for bread-making would appeal to someone with your lifespan and attention to detail.”
Rook paused, ingredients in hand, and studied Julian with new appreciation. “You know what? I seewhy Cillian’s obsessed with you. You’re genuinely weird.”
“Thank you.”
“That was a compliment, by the way.”
“I know.”
Rook laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Okay, Jules. Since we’re stuck here together while the others handle business, let me tell you about the best bakery I’ve found in this city. It’s a little place in the Arts District, run by this seventy-year-old woman who makes kouign-amann that would make you weep. Buttery, caramelized, layers for days…”
Julian let Rook talk, cataloging the information about bakeries and bread-making techniques while his mind worked through the real problem.
Cillian had gone to confront Marcus Vane. The man who’d put a bounty on Julian’s head, who’d managed tosecure obsidian chains specifically designed to contain guardians, who’d built an operation extensive enough to require tunnel systems and industrial facilities.
And Cillian had left without saying goodbye.
The shadow around Julian’s fingers pulsed again, a steady rhythm that might have been reassurance or might have been Cillian’s heartbeat, transmitted through their bond.
Julian focused on it, pouring every ounce of his will into a single message:Come back safely. We’re not done talking.
The shadow squeezed his hand gently.
