Page 77 of Mane Rival in Store by Milly Taiden

She read his face from across the room. The jaw was set. The eyes were steady but carrying weight behind them. His shoulders held the tension of a man who had performed authority and was still wearing the performance like a coat he hadn’t taken off yet.

She stood. Crossed to him. Her hands found his lapels and she smoothed them—a gesture that was about touch, not fabric. “How was court?”

“The council acknowledged my choice.” His hands settled on her waist. The contact was automatic now—three days of shared space had given his body permission his mind had spent weeks denying. “Yara invoked advisory privilege. She made her position clear.”

“Which is?”

“That you’re human, American, and you sell lipstick.”

“All three of those things are true. Did you point out that the lipstick outsells her portfolio?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. The almost-smile—the crack in the regal mask that she’d spent weeks hunting and now caught multiple times a day, each one a small victory she hoarded shamelessly.

“I may have mentioned your commercial achievements.”

“You defended me in lion court with my sales numbers.” She tugged his lapels gently, pulling him closer. “That is the most Rune Sterling sentence in the history of sentences.”

“I also told her that you didn’t run.”

He looked at her the way he looked at rare things behind glass—with steady, careful reverence.

“What did she say?”

“She said the matter is recorded. She sat down.”

“That’s it?”

“For Yara, sitting down is a ceasefire.”

“Your family is very dramatic.”

“We’re lions.”

“You’re cats. Very large, very political cats.” She kissed his jaw. His hair lifted at the temples. She tracked it—automatic now, the tally she’d started three days ago and maintained with the dedication of a naturalist documenting a species whose primary tell was follicular rebellion. “Your hair liked that.”

“My hair has no opinions.”

“Your hair has more opinions than your entire council.”

THIRTY-FOUR

LARK

Breezy cleared her throat from her position at the marker. “When you’re finished conducting diplomacy through physical contact, we have a sting to plan.”

Rune’s attention shifted to Breezy’s timeline. His posture changed—the warmth receding behind operational focus, the way the tide pulls back to reveal the architecture of a shoreline. He studied the chart, the circled names, the financial threads.

“Leif Cross.” He moved closer to the board. “You’ve mapped the industrial corridors.”

“Sunset Park, Gowanus, Navy Yard.” Breezy pointed to each corridor on the map. “Lark identified the delivery radius based on pop-up locations. I’m pulling lease records for spaces with specialized climate and electrical requirements.”

“The Navy Yard has three commercial spaces that match that profile. I authenticated a collection for a private buyer in one of them last year.” He pulled out his phone, scrolled, and showed Breezy an address. “This building has loading dock access and dedicated climate control on the second floor. Check that lease first.”

Breezy looked at the address. Looked at Rune. Her chin dipped—the quiet salute of one operational mind recognizing another.

“I’ll have the lease records within the hour.”

Lark watched them—her best friend and her lion, collaborating over Breezy’s war map with the intensity of generals planning a campaign. The visual struck her: Breezy in her structured blazer and low bun, marker in hand like a scepter; Rune in his charcoal suit, hair fighting its way upright, pointing at industrial corridors on a hand-drawn grid. Two people who organized the world into systems and were currently systemizing the takedown of a counterfeiter.