Shelter (Genesis: Savage Warriors #3)

Chapter One

The campus coffee shop was one of the few places that never closed, which meant the lights were always too bright. Bright was good. Bright left fewer places for intent to hide.

The air carried scorched espresso and syrup burned down to sugar glue. Nothing dangerous in it. Just tired.

Students crowded the counter in loose clusters, shoulders brushing. A small group argued about deadlines.

The line shifted forward, and Law moved with it. No one in there registered him beyond a passing glance.

Phones lit most of their faces from below. He’d once been told that glow meant productivity.

Millennials.

No. These were Gen Z.

Same as the man standing beside him.

His attention flicked sideways—curl of blond hair, hoodie half-zipped, energy barely contained—closer than necessary. Not pressed. Just inside the margin.

Sage. The fluorescent lights brightened his hair to white-blond, refusing to let him blend the way everyone else did. Law registered it automatically. Light mattered. Visibility mattered. Some people drew it without trying.

He shifted, hypervigilant because this wasn’t normal—having Sage with him on a job.

It changed the hand of the deck. Not in a bad way, but it made him reassess everything and everyone who stepped into their orbit.

Sage being here couldn’t be helped. They needed intel, and the kind of predator they were tracking never showed up on screens.

“Next,” the barista called.

The sound pulled his focus back to the counter, and he handed over his card.

“Black extra roast,” he said.

“I’ll have a mocha cappuccino, extra syrup.” Sage didn’t hesitate, leaning in just enough to be heard over the noise.

The barista rang them up and called out the order before waving them down the counter toward the pickup area.

Law took his receipt without looking at it, already stepping aside as the next customer moved in behind them.

Within minutes, another barista slid their cups over the counter.

Steam curled up from the lids, heat carrying the bitter edge of coffee and sugar.

Sage leaned in a fraction; voice pitched just for him. “You’re really ordered that?”

“Yes.”

Law smirked at the extra dark coffee in the cup. Some people would think it was sludge, but he thought it tasted just right.

Sage, on the other hand, had gone for the sweet drink without hesitation.

“That’s not coffee,” Sage said, making a face. “That’s hot dirt pretending it has morals.”

Law huffed a quiet laugh, eyeing Sage’s cup, then met his gaze—clear green, steady, always watching more than he let on. “And that’s basically a candy bomb.”

“Hey—at least mine has color,” Sage defended.

“Mine has caffeine.”

“More like battery acid,” Sage replied, glancing at a nearby display, then nudging his cup an inch to the left. Then another half inch, aligning it neatly with the counter’s edge.

Sage didn’t seem to notice he was lining things up in a neat, tidy row.

Law did.

“You judging me?” Law smirked.

“I’m worried about you,” Sage said solemnly, tipping his chin at Law’s cup. “That is a cry for help.”

Law snorted, biting back a grin.

They lingered there, stepping out of the way, but not moving fast. Killing time.

Sage’s phone vibrated.

The techie’s hand moved—then stopped. He didn’t look at it. Something in him went quiet. Not frozen. Not stiff. Just… still.

Law registered the hesitation. And the stillness that followed.

Behind them, someone laughed too loudly. A grinder screamed. Milk steamed. The floor tugged faintly at his boots. He let his attention widen, sweeping the space—front door, reflections in the darkened windows, the places people forgot to watch.

Still normal. Still busy. Still harmless.

Black sat at a corner table pretending to read something on his phone, posture loose enough to sell it. Students kept throwing glances at the big, attractive man. Black had sex appeal in spades.

Winter had claimed a stool by the window, coffee untouched, gaze angled toward the quad outside while he casually talked with a few students.

People gravitated toward Winter—the guy had that way about him.

He stayed vigilant, though, keeping watch while blending in with campus casual.

With his lean frame and good looks, he could get away with it.

Memphis wasn’t anywhere Law could see, which meant he was mobile—exactly where he needed to be.

At the far wall, Micah blended in, jacket slung loose, face unforgettable but fitting the student vibe perfectly. At twenty-six—almost a year older than Sage—both young assassins nailed the college look.

Sage tipped his head, studying him. “One day,” he said, “I’m going to make you try something with actual flavor.”

Law glanced slowly sideways. “That a promise?”

Color crept up along the line of Sage’s jaw beneath his ear. His mouth curved in a quick, darting smile—gone almost as soon as it appeared—before he turned back to the counter, attention snapping into place like it belonged there.

Outside, laughter echoed across the quad. A door opened. A door closed. A woman with a sagging brown bun, wrinkled pink shirt, and tan pants stood beside them, studying the menu. Not close—but close enough to notice.

Law lifted his coffee, the cup warm against his fingers.

Nothing about the moment felt like a job.

That was the point.

Law scanned the half-empty tables, looking for one to claim, when the woman beside them cleared her throat.

“Visiting your son at college?”

Law met her gaze without expression, unhurried as he took in her bright smile.

“I’m not his son,” Sage answered her smoothly, sliding an arm through his and holding on tightly. “We’re together.”

Law ignored the sudden rush of heat at the younger man’s touch—but more than that, he wondered why Sage felt the need to correct her.

The woman gaped, her sagging brown bun bobbing as she flushed bright red before hurrying away.

“Wait!” Sage called after her, “you’re gonna miss the good stuff.”

“Behave,” Law growled, angling them out of the flow of traffic and guiding Sage toward the half-empty tables before they became the next spectacle.

Sage snickered when they came to a stop and shot him an upward glance.

“What?” Sage asked innocently.

Law huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head.

“Daddy,” Sage teased, snickering.

Law swiped a hand at the smartass, but Sage dodged away with a laugh.

“I’m old enough,” Law reminded the techie.

Sage sobered and tipped his head, giving him the once-over from a few feet away.

Law stood patiently. He made no excuses for who he was—never had and never would. He thought he looked damned good for his age and stayed in shape. Their age difference was significant—almost twenty-three years.

“Why would our age difference matter?” Sage asked, stepping back to his side.

Law frowned. Was Sage asking because he’d never pictured them together—or because he didn’t mind the difference? He opened his mouth to ask when the crowd shifted, someone bumped his shoulder as they pushed past, and the moment broke before it could settle.

Winter’s voice cut in low and urgent.

“We’re on.”

Law moved without thinking, crowding Sage toward the exit, attention split between the shift around them and the way Sage fit easily into his stride—fast, compact, all coiled energy as they hit the night.

Law didn’t hesitate. He stayed close, already accounting for angles, timing, and the one variable he wasn’t willing to lose.