Chapter 115 | The Chicken Salad Accord

I was literally building an extraction network. Prioritizing targets by tier and ability value. Running calculations on who to approach next based on optimal point returns.

Belle was Bronze. Naomi was Silver. Aurora was Silver. Hikaru was Gold.

The math was simple. Higher tiers meant more days. More points. Better abilities. Basic resource management.

But Naomi wasn’t wrong about Wednesday night mattering either.

"You were the first person at this school who gave a shit about me," I said. "Remember Theory? When I looked like I was dying during that diagnostic? You checked on me. Asked if I was okay. Offered to study together."

Naomi’s eyes widened slightly. Like she hadn’t expected me to remember that.

"I hadn’t done anything for you yet. Hadn’t proven I was worth knowing. You just. Decided I was worth your time."

"That’s because you seemed lost."

"Everyone was lost. You picked me."

I reached over. Took her hand. Her fingers were cold. Slightly damp from wiping her eyes.

She didn’t pull away.

"That night. The sanctum. Everything that happened after. That wasn’t just extraction. If it was just about points I would’ve rushed through it. Got what I needed. Moved on."

"But you didn’t."

"No."

I squeezed her fingers gently. Felt her pulse in her wrist.

"I kissed your forehead. Asked you to stay. Made you breakfast the next morning. Those weren’t extraction mechanics. That was me actually liking you."

Naomi’s breath caught. A small sound in the back of her throat.

"And yeah. I’m gonna do this with other girls. Because I’ll die if I don’t. But that doesn’t mean you’re replaceable."

"How can I not be replaceable when you’re literally replacing me with Belle? And whoever else you find?"

Valid question. No good answer. Not one she’d want to hear anyway.

I tried anyway.

"You remember that speech about chicken salad sandwiches?"

Naomi blinked. Her confusion was genuine.

"What?"

"That time at lunch. Belle went on this whole thing about how chicken salad sandwiches are superior to chicken and salad separately. Had this whole philosophy about it."

"I remember thinking she was ridiculous."

"Right. But then I got the sandwich. Because I was hungry and it sounded good. Not because I was trying to copy her or because her theory converted me."

Naomi frowned. Her nose scrunched up in that way it did when she was processing something.

"I don’t understand what sandwiches have to do with this."

"Multiple things can be good at the same time. The sandwich was good. My separate chicken and salad was also good. They served different purposes. Satisfied different cravings."

Understanding dawned across her face. Then immediately turned into horror.

"Did you just compare me to food?"

"I compared our entire situation to food. There’s a difference."

"That’s worse."

"Probably."

Naomi pulled her hand back. But she was smiling now. Small. Reluctant. Fighting to stay serious. But real.

"You’re terrible at this."

"At what?"

"Being. I don’t know. A boyfriend? Partner? Whatever you are."

"Yeah. I’m aware."

I ate more eggs. Let the silence settle into something less sharp. Less raw. The dining hall noise filtered back in gradually.

Naomi picked up her spoon finally. Took an actual bite of oatmeal. Chewed. Swallowed. Her throat worked visibly.

"Belle texted me at midnight. Said you were. Good to her. That you took your time. Made sure she. Finished. Before you did."

Jesus Christ this conversation.

"She also said you have a massive dick and she could barely walk after."

I choked on my protein shake.

Naomi’s expression remained completely innocent. Like she’d just commented on the weather.

"Just thought you should know she’s telling me everything."

"Why."

"Because we made an agreement. If you’re going to be with both of us. We’re going to be honest with each other about it. No secrets. No lying. Just. Transparency."

That was. Surprisingly mature actually. Also terrifying.

"So just so you’re aware," Naomi continued. "When you inevitably do this with someone else? I’m going to know about it. Belle’s going to know about it. And we’re probably going to talk about it extensively over coffee."

"You two are plotting against me."

"No. We’re establishing boundaries so none of us end up hating you or each other."

"That’s just plotting with better PR."

Naomi smiled wider. Her whole face lit up with it.

"Maybe."

Belle appeared at our table. Set down her tray without asking permission. The plates and silverware clattered together.

She sat on Naomi’s other side. Looked at me. Looked at Naomi. Her amber eyes were sharp. Calculating.

"We good?"

Naomi nodded once. Firm.

"We’re good."

"Cool."

Belle stabbed her fork into a waffle with unnecessary aggression. The tines sank deep into the soft bread.

"So. Noon. Results posting. We celebrating our top five finish or planning my funeral?"

"Celebrating," I said.

"Confident."

"We earned it."

Belle chewed thoughtfully. Syrup clung to her bottom lip.

"If we actually pulled this off. If we’re top five after that A-rank clear. Blair’s going to lose her entire mind."

"Good."

"You realize she’s going to make your life hell right?"

"She’s already trying. Hasn’t worked yet."

Naomi touched my arm. Her fingers were warm now. Gentle.

"Jace maybe you should. I don’t know. Be careful? Blair’s family has actual power. Not just academy influence. Real world connections."

"I’m aware."

"And you’re still going to antagonize her?"

"She started it."

Belle snorted. Nearly choked on her waffle.

"That’s your defense? She started it?"

"It’s a good defense."

"It’s a five-year-old’s defense."

"Then I’m a five-year-old who killed an alpha Crawler and cleared a gate with an A-rank rating."

Naomi squeezed my forearm gently. Her thumb rubbed small circles on my sleeve.

"We cleared it. Together. As a team."

Right. The Midnight Foxes. Not Jace Monroe’s solo adventure.

I looked at both of them. Belle with her blue hair and calculating eyes. Already planning three moves ahead while eating waffles.

Naomi with her pink and black stripes and genuine concern. Actually worried about my safety instead of just the strategic implications.

Two different women. Two different approaches. Both here. Both mine.

For now.

"Sorry," I said. "You’re right. We did it together."

Belle pointed her fork at me. A piece of waffle still stuck to the tines.

"Don’t forget that. Your ego’s getting big enough to need its own zip code."

"My ego kept us alive yesterday."

"Your spear work kept us alive. Your ego almost got you killed when you broke formation to help me."

"You were surrounded by three Crawlers."

"I had it handled."

"You were screaming."

"Tactical screaming. To disorient the enemy."

Naomi covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. The sound leaked out anyway. High and bright.

Belle glared.

"What."

"Nothing. Just. You two are. Really something."

"We’re a disaster," Belle corrected.

"A functional disaster," I added.

"Still a disaster."

Jordan appeared like a ghost. Looked half-dead. Collapsed into the chair across from me. His grey eyes were bloodshot.

He stared at my plate.

"Can I have your bacon."

"No."

"Why not."

"Because I’m eating it."

"Selfish."

He laid his head on the table with a soft thunk. His messy brown hair stuck up in every direction.

Belle pushed her own bacon toward him without comment.

Jordan looked up. Genuine gratitude in his grey eyes. Like she’d just saved his life.

"You’re my favorite person."

"I know."

He grabbed the bacon and ate it like he hadn’t seen food in days.

Naomi checked her phone. The screen lit up her face.

"Misato says meet at the arena at eleven. Final debrief before results."

"What’s there to debrief?" Jordan mumbled through bacon. "We either made top five or we’re screwed."

"Misato wants to review footage. See what we did right. What we can improve."

Belle groaned. Actually groaned. Loud enough that people at nearby tables looked over.

"Can’t we just. Enjoy the win for five minutes before she starts critiquing our footwork?"

"No," I said. "Because she’s Misato and improvement never stops."

"I hate that you’re right."

My phone buzzed against the table. The vibration made my fork rattle.

Aurora.

morning sleepyhead