“I couldn’t stay away,” I murmured.

“Really?” she asked, her tone disbelieving. I smirked down at her, something unknotting in my chest as I met her stare for stare.

“Really.”

If these two men were the reason for her misery, then why not add some agitation to that by forcing her to play the ‘date faking’ game, or whatever it was she had called it yesterday.

Oh, SJ, you really are very good at lying to yourself …

I pushed the odd thought aside, turning my attention to the men who had been so wholly ignoring her up until my arrival.

One was tall, with a hair colour that I could only term ‘nondescript’. But he had freckles and bright blue eyes, which made me think he might be some sort of relative of hers. In fact, he looked familiar. Had he been at the markets, prodding at her stall and muttering to her?

He stared up at me with unmasked shock, his mouth hanging open uncouthly.

“Who’re you?” the other blurted. He had a nasal, uncultured voice, his body all gangly limbs and a rat-like face. He had floppy black hair, which he flicked off his forehead almost compulsively. I took an instant dislike to him.

“Simeon,” I replied, reaching for one of the odd plastic boxes and dragging it next to Jemma, who watched me with a very strange expression. I perched on the ridiculous excuse for a seat, pasting a pleasant smile on my face.

“Are you constipated?” I murmured in her ear as she lifted her cup to her soft lips.

She snorted into the foamy drink and turned her head just enough to eye me. “What on earth makes you think that?”

I raised one shoulder. “Your face looks … different, to how it usually does when I show up.”

I was acutely aware of the eyes of the two men on us.

“Shockingly, right now your presence is the lesser of two evils,” she mumbled, taking a sip. A bit of the foamy substance that floated on the surface of her drink adhered to her nose. She put down her cup, swiping it off with her finger. I couldn’t drag my eyes from her as she slid that finger between her lips, her lashes fluttering behind her glasses.

The Token was still. How was my unexpected presence not upsetting her?

“Losing your touch, Boss,” Bub whispered. My smile slipped. I was not losing my touch. I wracked my brain for ways to make her uncomfortable, even as I tried to wrap my head around the very strange energy at the table.

“So … Simeon,” the nondescript one began, lifting his slime-like drink to his mouth and slurping through the straw. “Am I to believe that you and my sister are⁠—”