Page 55 of Flint's Arrow
“If he asks me directly, I’m not lying.” Flint crossed his arms. “Cyrus is my handler and my friend. I won’t do that to him.”
“No one’s asking you to lie,” Python said quickly. “Just...don’t volunteer information. Let me handle Cyrus.”
“Famous last words,” Storm muttered.
“I heard that.”
Arrow watched the exchange, still trying to reconcile his old worldview with his new reality. Patterson had been his supervisor for years. They’d worked together, shared coffee in the break room, complained about paperwork, and while Patterson had also been overbearing, arrogant, and honestly believed he was right about everything, Arrow had never believed he would be so against Arrow finding his fated mate - the holy grail all shifters hoped to find.
Instead of being happy for him, Patterson had called Flint unsuitable, had tried to drag Arrow away from his mate, and had refused to accept Arrow’s choices as valid. He had his head so far up his ass regarding shifter hierarchy that Patterson felt his views were more valid than those of the Fates. Arrow couldn’t believe how he used to think Patterson’s opinion of him had been so important…I’m so damn lucky I’m out of that now.
“Hey.” Flint touched his arm. “You okay?”
“Honestly…I don’t know.” Arrow ran a hand through his hair. “This is a first for me. I just...I can’t believe he came after me like that…after us. Like my decision to be with you was somehow wrong, when the Fates themselves deemed us perfect for eachother. How…how arrogant does a person have to be to act like that?”
“You’ve been known to have a similar arrogance yourself in the past, but you got over it.” Flint laced their fingers together. “Some people can’t handle it when others stop playing by their rules. Patterson had you in a box - dutiful employee, ambitious wolf, someone who’d never rock the boat. When you broke out of that box, it threatened his entire worldview for some reason.”
“I worked with him for years.”
“And he never really saw you, just the role you played.” Flint squeezed his hand. “But that’s over now. You get to decide who you are, not Patterson or your family or anyone else.”
Arrow pulled Flint close, breathing in his mate’s scent. “How are you so wise?”
“I’m not. I’m just really good at shooting things from far away and growing strawberries.” Flint kissed his jaw. “The wisdom is new, but I’m trying it out.”
“I like it.”
“Good, because there’s more where that came from.”
/~/~/~/~/
That evening, the grill pit hummed with activity. Levi worked the massive grill like a maestro, flipping steaks and adjusting temperature zones while Calvin prepped sides on the outdoor kitchen counter. Pax was loitering by the dessert table, sneaking bites of pie when he thought no one was looking. Clearly, someone had been to the bakery that afternoon. It all smelled and looked delicious.
Arrow sat between Flint and Devon, a beer in hand, trying to absorb the normalcy of it all. The people around him were assassins, killers, people who did lethal things to terrible peoplefor money. Those same people were arguing about whether hot dogs counted as sandwiches.
“It’s meat between bread,” Storm insisted. “That’s a sandwich.”
“But the bread is a bun, so the two parts are connected,” Wren countered. “Surely, a sandwich requires two separate pieces.”
“What about a sub? That’s connected bread.”
“A sub is different.”
“How?”
“It just is!”
Cyrus sat at the head of the picnic table, Python pressed against his side, looking content despite the chaos around him. He caught Arrow’s eye and smiled - a genuine, warm expression that made Arrow’s chest tight.
This was what he’d been missing in the city. Not the fancy apartment or the impressive job title or the approving nods from supervisors who didn’t actually give a damn about him. This connection and belonging, people who’d literally shown up to back him in a fight without being asked. Arrow tried to think if anyone else in his previous life might’ve done that.Jack, maybe?
Cyrus’s phone rang, interrupting Wren’s passionate defense of a simple sandwich. Everyone went quiet as Cyrus pulled it from his pocket, frowning at the screen.
“It’s the agency.” He glanced at Python, who’d gone still. “Upper management.”
“Perhaps you should put it on speaker,” Python suggested quietly.
Cyrus tapped the screen. “This is Cyrus.”
