The door beside Lucas opened like a storm before any of them could speak.
A man stepped out of the suite he had paid for, fought for, and, unfortunately, forgot to ward against idiocy.
Trevor.
Hair damp, sleeves rolled, collar still unfastened at the throat. He moved like a man who had dressed in silence and fury, one hand dragging a cuff through the last remnants of linen steam, the other already curled into something just shy of threat.
He stopped just behind Lucas.
Trevor's gaze moved once across the hallway, Cressida first, then Dax, then back to his mate.
He didn't speak.
The silence hit the floor like something heavy.
Dax, of course, broke it. "Good morning, darling. You're late to the inquisition."
Trevor didn't look at him.
His voice, when it came, was too calm to be kind.
"What exactly is this?"
