"Problem-solving implies there's a problem to solve. My father's just an asshole."
"Same difference."
We ordered food. Thai again, because Cheon had developed an addiction to pad thai that bordered on concerning. Mera sprawled across the couch with her head in my lap while Cheon organized tomorrow's schedule on her tablet, muttering about time conflicts and travel logistics.
Normal. This felt normal.
The drain hummed contentedly between us, three signatures weaving together in patterns that felt more familiar with each passing day. Mera's energy tasted like smoke and amber. Cheon's like honey and lightning. Together they created something that settled in my chest like a warm weight.
"Your father's going to ask about your abilities," Cheon said without looking up. "The match footage is everywhere. There's no way he hasn't seen it."
"Let him ask."
