The door had barely clicked shut behind Dax and the grandmother when Trevor slumped forward like a marionette whose strings had finally been cut.
"I feel like I was just interrogated by two different versions of the same ancient war deity," he muttered, one arm bracing against the nearest sofa, the other dragging across his face.
Lucas, still by the window, watched him with a slow blink and the faintest upward curve at the corner of his mouth. "That's generous. I'd say one war deity and one event planner with imperial clearance."
Trevor groaned. "I knew I should've let you talk more. You've got the better mouth for diplomacy."
"I also have the better mouth for shutting you up," Lucas replied, walking over with the calm grace of someone who'd just survived court-level trauma and intended to make it everyone else's problem.
Trevor grinned, tilted his head back to meet him, and reached out—no hesitation, no clever retort this time.
"Come here."
