26. Camille #2
Jules emerges in a cloud of steam, her hair damp and curling around her shoulders. She has changed into black trousers and a fitted red top with one shoulder exposed, casual by her standards, but not casual enough to indicate she is staying in the room.
I look at the time. “You should be resting.”
“I did rest. For an entire week. It was horrible.”
“You did not rest. You complained the entire time.”
“That still counts.”
She crosses the room while fastening a thin gold chain around her neck. The clasp slips from her fingers. She tries again, raising her injured arm too high, and winces.
“Stop.”
“I’m almost done.”
“You are not.” I stand and hold out my hand.
Jules studies me for a second before giving me the necklace and turning around.
I move her damp hair over one shoulder. My fingers brush the back of her neck, and the bond warms instantly.
She goes still.
So do I.
The chain is delicate, the clasp unnecessarily small. It should require no concentration. Instead, I am aware of every detail: the lingering heat from her shower, the faint scent of her shampoo, the subtle movement of her breathing beneath my hands.
Her affection reaches through the bond before she can conceal it.
Warm. Cautious. Still hurt.
She must feel my response because her shoulders soften.
I secure the clasp and lower my hands. “Done.”
Jules turns.
We are standing too close.
Her eyes flick briefly to my mouth before returning to mine. She does not make a joke or step away immediately.
“Thank you, Cami,” she says.
The nickname has not become easier to hear.
“You’re welcome.”
The silence lasts several seconds before she glances towards my laptop.
“You’re coming with us,” she says.
“That was not phrased as a question.”
“It wasn’t one.” Jules turns away. She holds a small gold hoop beside one ear as she studied herself in the nearby mirror.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Out.”
“That is vague.”
“We’re in Tokyo on our final night before the last show of the tour. The others want food, lights, chaos, and probably karaoke if Mina gets her way.” She replaces the hoop with a longer earring, tilting her head as though the choice requires serious analysis.
“Mina wants karaoke?”
“Mina loves karaoke.“ Jules pauses, glancing back at me. “And before you ask, Blaire approved it. Just a few hours, no press, no dancing. She booked private entrances at both places and assigned two security officers to trail us.”
“Two?”
“One ahead, one behind. Very discreet. Very glamorous.” She holds up another earring to the light. “We’re wearing caps through the public areas too. Apparently that draws way less attention here than I thought it would.”
“And your medical restrictions?”
Her mouth twists. “I’m supposed to admit if my ribs start hurting.”
“That condition appears unreliable.”
“She said you’d enforce it.”
Of course she did.
“I have work,” I state.
“You always have work.”
“The system override is not complete.”
“And staring at it for six consecutive hours is definitely going to fix it,” Jules counters.
“That is a reductive assessment.”
“It’s an accurate one.” Jules reaches past me and closes the laptop before I can stop her. “You said we need to act normal until the finale. This is normal.”
“Your version of normal is frequently dangerous.”
She grins. “That’s why you should supervise.”
I look at her, and her smile softens.
“Come out with us,” she says. “Not as my handler. Not as the person managing the tour or tracking my medical restrictions. Not even as my wife… Just… come.”
The bond carries the request more clearly than her voice does.
She wants me there.
Not for protection. Not for the magical bond.
For me.
I glance towards the closed laptop.
The work will remain. The threat will remain. For the next several hours, the Mouthpieces and Patron and Eon will continue building towards the finale whether I reread the contracts or not.
“Two hours,” I say.
Jules’s face brightens. She selects the hoops and begins fastening one. “Three.”
“Two.”
“Two and a half,” she counters, reaching for the second earring.
“We return immediately if you become fatigued.”
“That’s not a time agreement.”
“It is a condition,” I say.
“Fine. Two and a half hours with deeply oppressive medical supervision.” Her eyes sparkle. “Fair?”
“Two.”
She sighs dramatically. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, wifey.”
I do not respond to that.
Jules walks towards the door, then looks back when I fail to follow. “You have ten minutes.”
“I need fifteen.”
Her eyebrows rise. “For what?”
“To change.”
She looks deliberately over my cream trousers and silk blouse. “You already look hot.”
The statement is immediate and unfiltered.
So is the warmth that follows through the bond.
Jules appears to realize what she said half a second too late. Her smile becomes brighter, more performative. “Trust me, staying hot is efficient. Saves time.”
I close my laptop and stand.
“Ten minutes,” I say.
She steps into the hall, visibly pleased with herself. “That’s my Cami.”
The door closes behind her.
I remain still for several seconds before reaching for my watch.
This time, I do not adjust it.
***
The restaurant, Tsukikage, is louder than I expected.
Not chaotic. Controlled chaos, contained within low ceilings, dark wood, paper lanterns, and narrow aisles that force servers to move with impressive precision.
Voices overlap from every direction. Glasses touch.
Oil hisses somewhere behind the counter.
The air smells of grilled meat, soy, citrus, and smoke.
Jules pauses just inside the private entrance and smiles.
The bond warms.
I look away before she notices.
“This is perfect,” Mina says.
“It’s crowded,” Kaia replies.
“That’s part of the perfect.”
Remy studies the room with the same suspicion she applies to altered audio files. “There are twelve possible exits.”
Jules glances at her. “You counted?”
“I stopped counting.”
“See?” Jules looks at me. “Everyone’s having fun already.”
A staff member leads us past the main dining area to a private room separated by a sliding wooden door.
The space is small, with a low table surrounded by cushioned benches.
Through the narrow window, the city glows in fragments: signs stacked above the street, headlights moving below, the reflection of a passing train sliding across the glass.
Jules waits until the others have chosen seats before lowering herself beside me.
There are available spaces elsewhere.
She chooses the one directly against my left side.
The booth is narrow enough that our thighs touch when she sits.
The contact moves through the bond before either of us can disguise it. Jules’s warmth arrives first, threaded with cautious satisfaction. Mine answers before I can stop it.
Her gaze flicks towards me.
I reach for the menu.
“This is entirely your fault,” I say.
“The seating?”
“The restaurant.”
“You’ll survive.”
“That remains undetermined.”
Her shoulder brushes mine when she leans over the table to examine the menu with Mina. She smells faintly of shampoo, and the perfume she applied before leaving the hotel. Beneath it is the lingering sterile trace of the recovery salve Bane instructed her to use along her ribs.
She is still injured.
She is also attempting to conceal it.
I watch the angle of her torso as she reaches farther than necessary for the menu in Kaia’s hand. There is a slight restriction on the left side.
“Do not twist.”
Jules freezes halfway across the table. Kaia closes her eyes briefly. Remy takes a drink of water. Mina presses her lips together.
Jules slowly looks at me. “Were you planning to supervise my spine all night?”
“Only while you insist on using it incorrectly.”
“I’m reaching for a menu.”
“You are overextending.”
“I dance for a living.”
“You are currently prohibited from dancing for a living.”
“Temporarily,” she counters.
“Correct.”
Her eyes narrow, but the irritation that reaches through the bond is softened by something warmer.
“Deeply oppressive medical supervision,” she mutters.
“You agreed to the condition.”
She laughs at that. “I was under emotional duress.”
“You were choosing earrings.”
“It was a vulnerable time.”
Mina laughs into her sleeve.
The server enters before Jules can continue and begins taking our orders. Kaia selects several grilled dishes and rice. Remy asks precise questions about ingredients. Mina points at almost everything Jules recommends, trusting her without verification.
Jules orders enough food for twice the number of people at the table.
“You cannot eat all of that,” I say after the server leaves.
“I’m sharing.”
“You ordered enough food for twice the number of people at this table.”
“I’m sharing. Mina likes the karaage, Kaia hasn’t eaten properly since rehearsal, and Remy wanted the mushrooms but refused to order them because no one else does.”
Remy’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t say that.”
“You stared at them for a whole minute and then moved on. That’s basically a speech.”
I stare at her.
She noticed a minute of silence in a crowded restaurant, interpreted it correctly, and acted before Remy had to ask. Not as performance. Not to be thanked. Simply because she was paying attention.
It hits me then: Jules notices what everyone wants and quietly arranges for them to have it, then disguises the act beneath excess and humor so no one examines it too closely.
Mina’s words return to me.
She just kept showing up until I wasn’t alone anymore.
Jules looks at my menu. “You haven’t ordered.”
“I am still deciding.”
“You can decide without data, you know. Even if you don’t like it,” Jules teases.
“That is not accurate.”
She raises a brow. “You spent four minutes researching the hotel bath controls.”
“They were poorly labeled.”
Jules leans closer, her hair brushing my shoulder as she points to one of the photographs. “Get this.”
“What is it?”
“Grilled aubergine with miso,” she says, as if she is suddenly an expert in Japanese cuisine.
“Why?”
“Because you’ll like it.” Jules gives me a confident little smirk, already pleased with herself.
“You cannot know that.”
“I know everything.”