Justice of the Supreme War God

Chapter 28: Have Fun PART 2

Diana watched the doorway he'd disappeared through for approximately two seconds longer than she needed to, then turned toward the staircase to change.

Claire found him at the counter twenty minutes later, working in the focused, methodical quiet that meant his hands were busy and his mind was somewhere considerably further away.

"She left," Claire said, unnecessarily.

"I know," Marcus said.

Claire stood near the kitchen door with her hands folded and the careful expression of a woman who had been in this household for three years and had developed a reasonably accurate model of its internal weather systems. She looked at the set of Marcus's shoulders — the contained, precise stillness of a man holding something in — and said nothing further about Diana or where Diana had gone.

"The paste," she said instead.

Marcus looked up.

"She asked about it," Claire said carefully. "In the hospital. She noticed the spots were gone. She wanted more." A pause. "I told her I made it."

Marcus was quiet for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth moved — not quite a smile, but the acknowledgment of one.

"She said it worked wonders," Claire added. "Her exact words."

Marcus turned back to the counter.

"How much does she want?"

"Enough to make it part of her regular routine, from what I gathered." Claire hesitated. "She was quite direct about it. You know how she is."

"I know how she is," Marcus said.

He reached for the cabinet where he kept the components — the dried calendula, the rosemary, the two additional elements sourced specifically for her skin type — and began assembling the second batch with the same quiet care he had brought to the first.

Claire watched him work.

"You know," she said, after a moment, "most men in your position would have said something. When she said what she said earlier. About you not being useful."

Marcus kept working.

"She was wrong," Claire said.

"She doesn't know that yet," Marcus said simply.

Claire was quiet for a while. The kitchen was warm and the evening had settled into the specific, late-hour quiet of a large house with only a few people in it.

"She'll figure it out," Claire said.

Marcus said nothing. He worked the paste into its final consistency and decanted it into a clean jar with the careful attention of a man who does things correctly or doesn't do them.

Aurelius was the kind of restaurant that communicated its own significance through understatement — dim lighting, tables far enough apart for actual privacy, a menu that didn't include prices because the clientele it was designed for considered that information irrelevant.

Ryan had reserved the corner table.

He stood when Diana arrived, with the smooth, practiced courtesy of a man who had been taught exactly when to stand and how to make the standing communicate something, and pulled out her chair with the ease of someone performing a gesture they had performed many times in rooms exactly like this one.

Diana sat.

She ordered water.

She looked across the table at Ryan Steel — polished, composed, wearing a suit that announced its own quality without requiring any assistance — and thought about what Reynolds had said.

A very powerful person in your corner.

Ryan unfolded his napkin and smiled at her with the warm, careful attention of a man who had been given an unexpected opportunity and intended to use every minute of it correctly.

"You look well," he said. "Considering."

"I'm fine," Diana said.

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

Ryan smiled again. This one reached his eyes slightly more than the previous one.

Diana picked up the menu and read it with the same focused attention she gave contracts, and did not think about the dinner she hadn't eaten, or the kitchen she'd left it in, or the man who had looked at her when she said Ryan's name and kept his face perfectly, completely still.