Actually, I'm not sure what I'll do after I’m finished with breakfast. But it definitely involves leaving this room and going back upstairs to hide in my temporary quarters for as long as it takes for Waylon to go away.

Waylon doesn’t say anything at first. He just eats his meal with a stoic efficiency that doesn’t feel very breakfast datey at all. Good. I'm hoping his silence will last until we’re both done with our food.

But just as I'm about to cut into my pancakes, he says, “Hades texted me last night. He wants to know exactly what Persy said to you yesterday morning.”

I inwardly startle but concentrate on keeping my face and voice completely neutral. “She just told me that you were waiting for me outside.”

“Hades mentioned something about you having a conversation about obeying me.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I answer with fear bubbling in my stomach. “We talked about that, but obviously, I decided to go a different way last night.”

“Obviously.” Waylon stabs his fork into the sausage patty as if it did something to him. And even though it’s daytime, that shadow comes back to harshen up his face.

“Hades is my brother—not to mention the president of our Louisiana chapter. If Persy told you something, asked you for something, you need to let me know right now. Crossing him is the same as crossing me.”

“She told me I should do what you say. And then, she told me you were downstairs,” I repeat firmly.

I’d like to accompany that statement with a bite of food like we're just having a casual conversation, and I’m completely unbothered. But it takes everything in my power just to keep my voice level. I don’t have the courage to test whether my hand would shake like my voice wants to if I attempted to add fork work.

“That's all she said to you?” Waylon asks. His face is hard as stone. “You're sure?”

I nod quickly. I’m more than willing to lie for Persy, but I hate the way Waylon scans me as if he has some sixth sense and can tell I’m not being entirely truthful.

I remember how he guessed that Jonathan had dumped me and how he basically interrogated the story out of me.

“So what's this Griffin told me about your last name being Fairgood?” I say to avoid him asking me any more questions about Stephanie, who apparently can’t have so much as a heavily cloaked conversation without Hades getting suspicious.

“Fairgood? Like Colin Fairgood? Are you two related?"

Waylon grits his jaw like he’s deciding how to answer.