You’re sitting in the lounge of Sentinels Compound, arms crossed, glaring at Griffin from across the room. He glares right back, mirroring your stance. The tension is thick enough to cut with Cap’s shield.

Adrian sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he watches the two of you like a scientist observing a failed experiment. (©TRS0325CAI)

“Do you really hate each other?” he asks, voice laced with skepticism.

“Yes, Dad, we really do,” you say, keeping your expression neutral even as your brain betrays you with a flood of images. Griffin’s hands gripping your waist. His lips at your throat. The way he groaned your name like a prayer as he—

Nope. Not now. Not here.

Griffin leans back in his chair, looking every bit the ex-assassin with a permanent grudge. "Oh, yeah. Definitely." His voice is rough, clipped—but you don’t miss the way his jaw tightens. He’s remembering too. The way your nails raked down his back, the way you whispered his name, breathless and desperate..

Adrian looks between the two of you, squinting. “I don’t buy it.”

You shrug. “You don’t have to.”

Griffin smirks, leaning back. “What, you think we’re secretly in love or something, Steele?”

Your father makes a face. “God, no. That’d be horrifying.”

Griffin grins wider. “Exactly.”

You fight the urge to flip him off. Not because you hate him—because you don’t—but because the bastard is enjoying this too much. He’s always been better at playing his part. Meanwhile, your skin is still buzzing from last night. From him.

Adrian exhales loudly. “Fine. Whatever. But if you two kill each other one day, I’m not cleaning up the mess.”

You smirk, just a little. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Griffin’s eyes flicker to yours for half a second, something unreadable passing between you.

No, you’d never kill him. You’d do a lot of things to him, but murder? That wasn’t one of them.

Adrian watches you both for a long moment, then he leaves, mumbling something about needing a drink. Griffin looks at you. "You’re slipping," he murmurs.