Two weeks had passed since Jack was brought into Black Rose Headquarters.
At first, the security detail expected him to panic. They expected him to demand answers, threaten lawsuits, cry for help, or at the very least attempt an escape. Instead, he did none of those things. The hostage somehow treated Black Rose Headquarters like a high-end vacation resort.
Within days, he had memorized the layout of the residential wing, learned the names of half the security guards, and somehow managed to charm nearly everyone he crossed paths with. Guards nodded respectfully when he passed through checkpoints. The kitchen staff slipped him extra desserts. Even some of the newer recruits had started joining his table during lunch breaks.
It annoyed Arora more than she cared to admit. No normal civilian adapted to a dangerous criminal syndicate this quickly. Yet Jack wandered through the sleek corridors of her HQ as if he had signed a lease.
The strangest part was that almost nobody seemed capable of disliking him.
Nobody except three people: Kelvin, Miso, and Edwin.
Kelvin disliked him because he spent far too much time floating around his little sister. Miso claimed she didn't trust him—though whenever someone pressed her for a reason, she gave the exact same answer: "It's his vibe." Nobody knew what that meant, including Miso.
As for Edwin, he simply found Jack profoundly bizarre.
"He's weird, Leader," Edwin announced one afternoon, slumping into a leather armchair across from Arora's desk.
Arora didn't bother looking up from the financial ledger she was reviewing. "That's your official report?"
"Yes."
"You're weird too, Edwin."
"Exactly," Edwin replied with complete confidence. "It takes one to know one."
A heavy silver pen immediately flew across the desk. Edwin caught it bare-handed an inch from his nose with a theatrical grin. "Nice try, Boss."
For the first time in months, headquarters was unusually quiet. Most of the recent field operations across Chicago had wrapped up successfully, and several primary squads had earned a short break. As a reward, Arora approved paid leave for nearly the entire staff.
The announcement had almost triggered a celebration in the lobby. By noon, half the building was empty, leaving only the primary Knight Squad on perimeter duty.
Before lunch, Arora summoned Miso and Edwin back into her suite. The moment Edwin stepped through the double doors, he looked deeply suspicious.
"Why do I feel like I'm about to receive bad news?"
"Because you are."
His shoulders immediately slumped. Miso let out a soft laugh as Arora slid a heavy black folder across the polished desk.
"The Boar Horn territory dispute," Arora said.
Miso opened it, scanning the intelligence brief before giving a single nod. "Understood, Leader."
Edwin leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the deadline. "How long do we have to resolve this?"
"Tonight."
Edwin's face twisted in dramatic horror. "One of these days, I'm going to turn in my resignation."
"No, you won't."
"Probably not," he sighed.
Miso tucked the folder under her arm and headed for the door. "We should leave before she remembers another pending file."
"The smartest thing you've said all week," Edwin agreed, quickly ducking out before Arora could prove him right.
The heavy door clicked shut, leaving silence in its wake.
For the next several hours, Arora buried herself in paperwork. Financial ledgers, district updates, security protocols, and supply requests filled her screen. By the time she reviewed the final contract, her eyes ached from the glow of her monitor.
Then her stomach growled. Loudly.
Arora leaned back in her high-backed chair, staring up at the ceiling. The paperwork wasn't going anywhere—but unfortunately, neither was her hunger.
"Wonderful."
Food first. Problems later.
She left her suite and made her way down to the central executive kitchen. The building felt strangely hollow. Normally, muffled chatter echoed from the strategy rooms, weights clanked in the gym below, or Edwin was shouting about something trivial. Today, there was only the faint hum of the air filtration system.
When she stepped into the dimly lit kitchen, she immediately ran into her first obstacle: the head chef was gone.
Right. She had personally approved his leave this morning.
Arora pulled open the massive stainless-steel refrigerator and stared at the neatly organized shelves. The prospects looked grim.
"Flawless planning," she muttered to herself.
She considered attempting to cook for roughly three seconds before rejecting the idea outright. Ordering high-end takeout from downtown sounded vastly safer for everyone involved. She reached into her coat pocket for her phone—just as the main pantry door swung open.
A familiar head of golden hair emerged from inside, carrying a carton of eggs.
Both of them froze. For three long seconds, neither spoke.
Then Jack smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. "Oh. Hi, Baby."
Arora closed her eyes and took a slow, measured breath. Two weeks. Two whole weeks, and he still refused to drop that ridiculous nickname.
"What are you doing in here?" she asked, her voice tight.
Jack glanced down at the carton in his hands. "Looking for food."
"You broke into my private kitchen."
"Our kitchen."
"No."
"Fair." He set the eggs on the marble counter and turned toward her. "I was trying to figure out what to make for dinner."
Arora folded her arms. "You do realize you are still technically a hostage, right?"
Jack nodded without hesitation. "Fully aware."
"Then why are you roaming through restricted areas?"
"Because hostages get hungry too."
The answer came so fast, with such earnest logic, that she almost lost her composure. Instead, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "You are impossible."
"That's word-for-word what Kelvin told me yesterday."
"Kelvin is a very observant man."
Jack looked genuinely wounded by that. Before Arora could say another word, her stomach betrayed her again—a loud, unmistakable rumble that shattered the quiet kitchen.
Dead silence followed.
Jack slowly looked down at her waist, then back up to her face. A wide, brilliant grin spread across his features.
Arora immediately wished for a sinkhole to open beneath her feet. "You heard nothing."
"I heard a very clear cry for help."
"You imagined it."
"Your stomach disagrees, Your Honor."
She glared at him with enough cold fury to freeze an ocean.
Jack immediately held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! Don't shoot the messenger." Turning back toward the refrigerator, he began pulling out fresh vegetables, butter, and heavy cream. "Let me cook."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm ordering takeout." Arora pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped the screen. Nothing happened. The display remained pitch black. Dead battery.
Of course it was.
Jack peeked over her shoulder, a sympathetic tilt to his head. "That is deeply tragic."
She slipped the useless phone back into her pocket, hardening her expression. "This conversation never happened."
Jack's grin returned tenfold. "Or..." He held up a wooden spoon in one hand and a block of parmesan in the other. "...you can help me."
Arora stared at him as if he had suggested robbing a bank. "I don't cook."
"You don't have to cook."
"Then why would I stay?"
Jack pointed the wooden spoon directly at her. "Because every great chef needs an impartial judge."
She blinked. "A judge?"
"A food judge. Critical, unyielding, terrifying. You're overqualified."
"This is ridiculous."
"It absolutely is."
"And you admit it?"
"Proudly." Jack placed his palm over his heart with dramatic flare. "But I am a man willing to suffer for my culinary craft."
Arora stared at him for several seconds, weighing her options. The stack of district reports could wait. Her empty stomach couldn't. And deep down, she knew this idiot wasn't going to stop talking until she sat down.
"Fine," she sighed, pulling out a high-backed barstool at the marble island. "Cook."
Jack instantly snapped a sharp salute with his wooden spoon. "As you command, Your Honor."
As he turned on the stove and set to work, the silent, empty kitchen suddenly felt a little less cold. And for reasons she couldn't begin to explain, that realization annoyed her more than anything else tonight.