JO PAUSED AT the entrance to the common area the next morning, hovering awkwardly. Most of the group was already there. Wayne sat at the bar, a newspaper—proof of magic, because such things hadn’t existed for decades—folded over his knee. Takako stood not far from him, scooping rice from a cooker into a variety of small bowls.

“That looks good.” Jo eased herself by Takako and braved a smile. To her relief, it was returned, and whatever lines Jo had crossed by helping Yuusuke were already on the way to being set right once more.

“You’ll get to enjoy it soon.” Nico’s voice piped up suddenly from the far end of the kitchen, the human embodiment of the bright and cloudless sky that stretched over them this morning. “It’s Takako’s turn to make breakfast for the group.”

It would seem that all traces of yesterday’s disappointment that Jo had watched mar his kind face were gone—for now, anyway. Jo swallowed hard, remembering his painting, his confidence in her, telling about his wish and his Julia. Over time, she’d prove to him (and everyone) that their kindness wasn’t misplaced. But for now, she was content watching him practically skip toward the espresso machine.

“Does everyone take turns cooking?” she asked.

“Samson does most of the cooking actually. We just offer him some respite occasionally,” Nico clarified.

“Okay, cool,” Jo nodded. “Because I can literally burn boiled water, so you might not want me near a stove.”

“Luckily, boiling water is the only thing that matters, because with it you can make coffee.” Nico measured out beans into the grinder with the precision of a chemist.

“Can I get in on that?” Jo perked up at the already rich smell of a dark roast that filled the air. That, mixed with the clean scent of rice and whatever meat Takako had working in the oven, left Jo’s mouth watering. She wasn’t actually hungry (which was supposedly normal now), but boy was she ready to eat away her stress.

“Only if I can get in on that, too.” Wayne poked his head up. On catching her eye, he gave a small wink and said, “I meant the coffee, dollface.”

“Obviously, dirty old man.” Jo rolled her eyes. She was torn between wanting to play along, wanting to keep the quiet peace that the morning already held, and wanting to shake him until he rattled off all the details of speaking with Eslar.

Wayne gasped, over-dramatic and clearly not as offended as he pretended to be despite how he raised his free hand to his forehead. “I’m a right lounge lizard, I’ll have you know!”

“A hundred and fifty-year-old lounge lizard. . . Whatever that means.” Jo shook her head and crossed over to Nico, coffee mug already outstretched. “Please?” Coffee would soothe her restless nerves.

As Nico poured, Jo caught a glimpse of a different expression. Her grip went slack and she had to focus on holding her mug. The casual atmosphere was a front for them all, a sort of self-preservation that they were indulging in while worry gnawed at their insides.

“Careful it’s—” Nico tried to warn.

Jo took a large swig of coffee, well knowing it was still scalding hot. It burned all the way down, searing her foggy mind to clarity. “I needed that.”

“It’s nice to finally have someone here who shares my love for a good cup.” That smile was back, the one she’d been foolish enough to believe was genuine. “Such a fantastic invention. I couldn’t have been happier the first time I saw a coffee shop open in Florence.”

“When was that? The coffee shop?” Jo played along while the back of her mind was already at work, spinning through her options.

Nico thought a moment. “The first was in Venice. . . then after that. . . it must’ve been mid- to late 1600s.”

“Such a rich history for such a rich drink.” She forced a smile as well. Fake smiles all around.

Samson walked in bleary-eyed, just in time for Takako’s breakfast of choice to be served. It was white rice, broiled fish, and miso soup.

“I hope it’s to your taste,” Takako said to her. “It’s what I used to make.” There was an unspoken “before I was at the Society” that lingered after the sentiment. “It’s just something simple and quick.” There were no anecdotes about her home or how she learned to make it, and Jo didn’t pry.

“It’s delicious. Reminds me of what my friend would make for me. . . when he was feeling particularly kind.”

Takako gave her another small smile and Jo wondered if the woman knew she was speaking of Yuusuke. Either way, the expression was the truest thing Jo had seen all morning. It seemed that Takako was the only one of them that seemed to wear sincere emotions no matter what, good or bad.

Jo turned to Samson. “So, you cook?”

He startled so violently that his spoon nearly fell from his hands. The orange-haired man passed it back and forth awkwardly. “I do.”

“Can you teach me, sometime?”

“Very well,” he said, voice so soft she could barely hear it.

Silence stepped in to fill the void of their conversation. It soured the sweetness of peace that the offering of food had been seasoned with, and wore at Jo’s patience for pleasantries. She knew the easy fronts were “for the sake of the team,” but they wore on her. It may have been easier if they’d screamed at her for a bit.

“Where’s Snow?” she asked delicately. She’d ease herself into this topic and find what she was looking for.

“Snow?” Nico cocked a head in thought. “Snow doesn’t really. . .”

“Snow would have you believe he has more important things to attend to.” Wayne rolled his eyes. “Who knows, though. When he requires our assistance, he will seek us out, but for the most part, he leaves us be.”

It didn’t seem too unusual for a leader (especially one like Snow) to be “too good” for eating with the peons. But after a few hundred years of solitude, she would’ve thought that attitude might have given way. Whatever Snow’s reason, Jo ignored it for now. Asking about Snow was a diversion to get to her real target.

“What about Eslar?”

Everyone seemed to still at once.

“Working with Snow on the wish, I think,” Samson squeaked out.

Jo looked to Wayne. He diverted his eyes. No luck there, one way or another.

“It was delicious, Takako, thank you.” Jo stood, both hands on the table. “Nico, may I help myself to another cup?”

“Oh, of course. . .”

“Thanks.” She’d need the caffeine-induced focus.

“Where are you off to, doll?”

“Recreation room.” If she lied it’d look suspicious. “Want to see how Yuusuke did.” That was believable, and the mere mention of how she’d botched their Severity of Exchange successfully silenced them.

Jo took another sip of coffee—careful to only burn her insides and not her whole face as she walked.

She wasn’t about to be beaten down and give up. She was going to make this right, for herself and for her team. If they could all put on brave fronts for her, she could pay back the favor with action. It didn’t matter if she had Eslar’s help, or Snow’s blessing. She was the Shewolf, and she was used to working alone.