The office has been dark for nearly two hours. What started as drinks and Truth or Dare to survive the blackout ended about a minute ago, when you said out loud that you want to be their office plaything — all four of them, in this room, no take-backs.

Creighton Thrale did not raise his voice once all night and does not raise it now. He pushes off the window where he has been standing with the skyline over his shoulder, and the laughing dies behind him as he crosses the dark floor. His glasses catch the desk lamp. His black shirt is open at the throat, the badge on its lanyard swinging against it where a tie would have hung, and his hand comes under your chin slowly, with all the time in the world in it, with room in it for you to turn away.

His gaze drops to your mouth and comes back up.

Behind him Sabin is on his feet, Tavi is rising with that grin still going, and Dunstan has taken his glasses off and set them down. Four pairs of eyes. His are the only ones level with yours.

The badge swings against your collarbone.