His shoulders were broader now, his movements more controlled—no restless energy, no teenage swagger. The sharp boyish angles of his face had settled into something leaner, striking in a quieter way. Even the faint scar at his hairline,one she didn’t remember, added to the sense that life had shaped him with a firmer hand than she’d realized. He looked like someone who understood discipline the way other people understood breathing.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, before she could stop the softness from escaping.
He nodded once. “Thank you for asking.”
A ridiculous lump rose in her throat. She chased it with coffee and found the bottom of the cup.
“Okay,” she said briskly, rearranging the pieces of her emotions. “Rules.”
He lifted a brow, his eyes shifting from somewhere behind her back to her face. “Rules?”
“I meet you on neutral ground,” she said. “Not at my office. No digital footprints I can’t explain in an audit. If I ask for distance, you give it to me. If I ask for help, you don’t say ‘I told you so.’”
He almost smiled. “I never say that.”
“You think it very loudly,” she countered with a smile.
“Fine,” he said. “Here’s my rules. You don’t run solo. If something shifts—if your access changes, if you see a new notice, if someone asks you an odd question—you tell me. You don’t keep souvenirs. And if I sayout,you step away long enough for me to pull you off the square.”
She met his eyes. “A truce.”
“A partnership,” he said.
Something uncoiled in her chest. She exhaled, feeling the tension that had been seizing her chest for the last week loosen its grip.
“I can get you a list of shell companies I’ve seen by tonight,” she said. “Vendor contracts by morning if I’m careful.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll get Joey started on flagging other potential properties for you. She’s a wizard with tech.”
A vibration hummed on the table—his phone, face down. He ignored it. It buzzed again, longer.
“You can get that,” she said, aiming for casual.
“It can wait.”
Another buzz, this time a staccato pattern that felt different. Marshall swore under his breath and thumbed the screen. Norah heard only half his side and none of the other—but urgency sharpened his posture.
“Say it again,” he murmured. A beat. His gaze lifted, focused past her, somewhere far away. “When?” Another beat. The muscle in his jaw fired. “I’m tied up. Call Connor instead.”
He ended the call and stared at the phone a fraction too long, deciding how much to give her. He chose less. He always chose less.
“Work,” he said.
“Obviously.”
He stood, leaving cash under the saucer. She rose with him, and for an instant they were too close in the narrow aisle. The icy rain at the window blurred the city into impressionist smudges.
He reached for her bag strap before she could, not to hold it—just to steady it so she could shoulder it without fighting the chair. The contact was nothing and everything.
“Walk me out?” she said, because she didn’t want to admit she wanted him to.
He took an umbrella the café kept in a steel stand by the door—one of those oversized black ones that could cover a small army—and snapped it open as the automatic doors sighed. The rain had sharpened, beading on his sleeve as they stepped into the gray.
They paused under the awning. Cabs prowled the curb. She raised a hand and one veered toward them, tires hissing.
“Remember the rules,” he said, voice low under the drum of rain. “Call me if anything so much as twitches.”
“I will,” she said, and found that she meant it.
