A few minutes back, in the study room, Diane watched as Hope stood and suggested coffee, it sounded harmless. Thoughtful, even. Diane barely reacted at first.
Then James volunteered to go.
Not eagerly. Not dramatically. Just… naturally. As if it made sense for him to go with her.
Diane's fingers paused mid-tap against the table.
She didn't look at them immediately. She didn't need to. She felt the shift the way predators sense movement in tall grass—the subtle realignment of attention, the quiet ease between two people who didn't need to try.
Hope smiled, casual. Too casual.
James grabbed his jacket. Relaxed. Comfortable.
Diane finally lifted her gaze.
They weren't touching. They weren't flirting. And that was exactly the problem.
Hope didn't lean in. Didn't overperform. She didn't need to.
Diane hated that.
She watched them leave together, shoulder to shoulder, the door closing too softly behind them. The room felt different without James—less anchored, less predictable.
Anita spoke. Samuel laughed about caffeine saving lives.
Diane didn't hear any of it.
Her mind was already working.
James wasn't reckless. He didn't chase attention. Which meant if he was curious, it would be quiet. Slow. Dangerous.
And Hope—Hope was observant, composed, unthreatening in the way that made people underestimate her. Diane had grown up around girls like that. The ones who didn't fight for space because space opened for them.
Diane leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.
Noted, she thought.
When they returned, the shift was undeniable.
Hope carried the tray of coffee and pastries, moving carefully between chairs.
"Coffee first, snacks second," she said, smiling lightly. "Let's give everyone a boost before we dive back into this chaos."
James walked beside her, carrying extra cups and napkins. "I'll make sure no one goes without," he said, his voice calm and steady.
As they moved around the table, Hope handed a steaming cup to Samuel. "Here, you look like you need this more than anyone."
Samuel chuckled, taking it gratefully. "Thanks, Hope. You two are lifesavers."
Next, Anita received her cup, and James added a few pastries on her side of the tray. "You've earned it," he said.
Hope passed Diane's cup carefully across the table. Diane's eyes flicked briefly toward James and Hope as they worked in quiet tandem. There was a subtle ease between them—the way they handed cups, smiled lightly, and coordinated without a word.
And that was enough. Diane's lips pressed into a thin line, her expression hardening, a faint flicker of jealousy—or perhaps frustration—shadowing her sharp features. She noted the small, unspoken connection between them, the easy rhythm, the unintentional closeness, and her mind began calculating.