Jinx is pressed against the opposite wall, arms crossed, staring at nothing. His jaw is tight. His shoulders are rigid. Every line of his body screamsstay away.
I've never been good at following instructions.
I shift closer, our shoulders almost touching. He tenses but doesn't move.
"You're still mad about the joke," I say quietly.
"I'm not mad."
"You've been avoiding me all day."
"I've been busy."
"Bullshit."
He finally looks at me. In the dim light of the van, his eyes are dark pools, unreadable. But his voice, when he speaks, is low enough that no one else can hear.
"You embarrassed me. In front of my brothers, in front of your people, in front of everyone."
"I know."
"That's all you have to say? 'I know'?"
"I'm not sorry." I hold his gaze. "You spent all morning pretending last night didn't happen. Wouldn't look at me, wouldn't talk to me, acted like I was a stranger. I don't play those games, Jinx. You want to pretend? Fine. But I'm not pretending with you."
"I told you. It changes nothing."
"And I told you that's bullshit." I lean closer, my mouth near his ear. "You can lie to yourself all you want. But your body doesn't lie. And last night, your body said plenty."
His breath catches. His hand twitches toward me, then stops.
"We have a mission," he says.
"We do."
"I need to focus."
"So focus." I settle back against the seat, giving him space. "I'll be here when you're ready to stop running."
He doesn't respond. Just turns back to stare at the window, jaw working, hands clenched.
But he doesn't move away. Our shoulders stay pressed together, heat bleeding through fabric, for the rest of the drive.
Somewhere around the two-hour mark, his hand finds mine in the darkness between our seats. His fingers thread through mine, rough and calloused, gripping tight.
He doesn't look at me. Doesn't acknowledge what he's doing. Just holds on like I'm the only solid thing in a world that keeps shifting underneath him.
I hold on right back.
Marlee catches my eye from across the van. She sees our joined hands, hidden in the shadows but not hidden enough. Her expression is complicated, worry and resignation and maybe, just maybe, a smidge of hope.
I give her a small nod.I'm okay. This is okay.
She shakes her head and looks away.
Outside, the French countryside blurs past. Ahead, Geneva and a facility full of children who need saving. Behind, a farmhousewhere something changed between us that neither of us knows what to do with.
Jinx's thumb strokes across my knuckles. Once. Twice. A tiny gesture, almost unconscious.
