A win.
I spot Saint in the tunnel that leads to the high-speed terminal shuttles. She’s propped against the wall like she owns the corridor, arms crossed, wig still on, her jaw working a giant pink bubble like she’s trying to intimidate it into submission.
She looks like a stranger.
A pissed-off, wig-wearing stranger with bubblegum confidence.
“Took you long enough,” she says.
I shake my head, brushing past her. She pushes off the wall and falls into step beside me.
“You look good in the wig,” I tell her. “You should keep it.”
Her bubble pops in a violent snap.
“Fuck you.”
We ride the escalator down toward the plane train like we belong here.
No scanning. No tension in our shoulders. No tells.
We stand side by side, bored travelers waiting for metal doors to slide open, eyes forward, minds empty. That’s the trick. Looking is what gets you noticed.
The doors open.
One herd spills out, dragging roller bags and screaming children. Another herd funnels in. Alejandro and I move with them, swallowed by bodies and noise.
His back is to the platform. Mine isn’t.
And that’s when I see him.
Silas Crow.
If death had a frequent flyer account, Silas would be platinum status. Tall, lean, expensive jacket. Calm eyes that don’t miss a thing. He’s not rushing. He’s hunting.
He scans the faces inside the car, slow and methodical, like he knows a contract is near.
The train doors are still open and his gaze is about to drift over us when I move.
I grab Alejandro by the front of his jacket and pull him down into a kiss.
It lands perfectly. Familiar. Convincing.
His hand comes to my hip without hesitation, like muscle memory never forgot me. Like his body knows mine better than his own. The contact is grounding and dangerous all at once.
But the kiss is actually serving another purpose. Holding hands or a peck on the cheek is no big deal but most people get uncomfortable seeing a couple kiss so intimately. They avoid looking too deeply. Not wanting to be a creep or a subconscious thing–maybe a little of both.
The doors slide shut and I pull away, glancing over Alejandro’s shoulder and finding Silas still on the platform. Hands on his hips, still hunting the fresh wave of travelers off the escalator.
The train lurches forward and launches into speed, smooth and violent. Alejandro grabs a hanging strap to steady us.
“What was that for?”
The cabin is stuffy, recycled air thick with too many bodies and cheap cologne. The lights strobe past the windows, turning everyone into fragments. I rise onto my toes, mouth brushing his ear like I’m about to tell him I love him.
“We have company.”
He doesn’t tense. Doesn’t swear. He just exhales.
