She held out her hand. I gave her the cup. She took the lid off, sniffed, and drank a small mouthful while staring me dead in the eye. Then she put the lid back on and handed it over.
"Oat milk," she said, faintly betrayed. "Kuzmina knows her order."
"Kuzmina knows everyone's order. She keeps a spreadsheet."
"I know. I've seen it. I'm on it." Noah stepped aside a few inches. "You have the whole morning. She cleared her schedule, which she has never done, not once in nine years."
That landed heavier than she meant it to. Or exactly as heavy as she meant it to, because Noah Gray doesn't waste words on anything that won't leave a mark.
Cel sat in the window seat with her legs folded under her. She wasn't reading this time. The datapad lay face down on the cushion beside her, and her hands were wrapped around her knees.
