Gavin is moving back behind his desk. Head down, reaching for the file.
He misses the half second where this man and I look at each other across the office with the bond running loud between us and nothing professional about any of it.
His eyes are dark and there is something in them — not the blankness he snaps into place a beat later. Something sharper. A flash of recognition that feels a lot like the one in my own chest.
Then he breaks it.
Eyes to Gavin.
The blankness drops over his face like a shutter — practiced, seamless.
I look at my hands.
"William Dalton," Gavin says, still reading. "Security consultant. He'll be your primary oversight contact through the review period. Mr. Dalton, this is—"
"Dalton."
He says it without looking at Gavin. Flat. Not rude — a fact being corrected. His eyes come back to me when he says it.
"Alex," I say. Since Gavin has stopped.
"I’ve read the file," Dalton says.
Gavin walks us through the arrangement. I catch most of it. The rest of my attention is on Dalton, who is standing to the left of the desk with a notepad he hasn't opened, not looking at me.
He's good at not looking at me. That's its own information — it takes effort to not look at someone, and effort means awareness,and awareness means the bond is running loud on his side too and he's managing it with the same deliberate neutrality he's putting on everything else. The notepad. The position slightly behind Gavin's sightline. The way he's angled toward the door rather than toward me.
Controlled. Practiced.
Gavin is still talking about oversight protocols and review windows and I am absorbing approximately forty percent of it.
Gavin's phone rings. "Excuse me — one moment." Side door, mostly closed.
The room goes quiet.
Dalton turns his head and looks at me. The shutter open a fraction — not all the way, just enough.
I wait.
"First shift," he says. Low. Not a question.
He looks at the wall briefly. One beat.
"Yeah," I say.
His jaw moves slightly, like he's filing something he wasn't expecting to file.
I think about the lodge hallway. His hand on my shoulder. The way he scrambled back and then went still and looked at me when no one else could.
"You went down," I say. "In the hallway."
"Yes."
"But you looked at me."
He pauses.
"Your presence is strong," he says.
