Three streets from the life she’d built.
And somehow, I felt like I was crossing into something entirely different. Something I wasn’t prepared for.
Ellsworth sat in the front passenger seat, posture immaculate, gaze forward. He hadn’t said much after apologizing for the interruption. Just a polite nod to me. A respectful silence.
But there was something about him.
I’d met CEOs who tried to command rooms with volume. Politicians who relied on charisma. Professors who used intimidation.
Ellsworth didn’t need any of that.
He felt like structure. Like someone who knew exactly where every piece belonged.
And right now, I was a piece being moved.
I looked sideways at Kane.
He was different in the car.
The easy warmth from earlier had retreated. Not vanished—I could still feel it in the way his knee remained pressed to mine—but contained.
His posture was straighter. His eyes sharper. His body subtly angled toward the window. Scanning.
It hit me slowly.
The way he moved in public. The way he positioned himself on the metro. The way he’d caught that man who bumped into me without even looking. The way he’d assessed the restaurant when we walked in.
Military.
Not the loud, chest-thumping kind. The quiet, trained kind.
He didn’t walk through the world.
He evaluated it.
“You’re doing it again,” he murmured quietly, without looking at me.
“Doing what?”
“Profiling me.”
I didn’t deny it.
“You’re military,” I said softly.
A pause.
Then: “Was.”
“That doesn’t go away.”
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
There was no bragging in it. No pride. Just fact.
I felt something strange in my chest.
Respect. And something softer.
