I don’t correct them.
I don’t say anything at all.
I keep my head forward. Keep my body angled so I take the brunt of the flashes. I’m aware of everything at once—the heat of her through the thin fabric of her sweater, the way her steps sync to mine without discussion, the security team finally finding rhythm behind us.
She’s close enough now that I can feel her breathing.
I tighten my hand at her back, just slightly. A silent cue.You’re okay. I’ve got you.
She exhales. Slow. Controlled. Like she’s counting without moving her lips.
Good.
The cameras eat it up.
We reach the SUV. I open the door for her, stepping in close so my body shields her completely while she gets inside. Manny drilled it into me yesterday.
Once she’s in, I follow, shutting the door hard enough that the sound cuts through the noise like punctuation.
Inside, it’s suddenly quiet—the outside chaos muffled to a distant roar.
Lila pulls off her sunglasses and leans back, shoulders sagging as she exhales for real this time. The breath shakes a little.
“Wow,” she says softly.
I glance at her. Without the lenses, she looks smaller. More human.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods once, then again like she’s convincing herself. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
The SUV pulls away, the crowd shrinking in the mirror.
I should say something professional about optics, timing, or ERS protocols.
Instead, I hear myself say, “You didn’t have to do that.”
She turns toward me. No sunglasses. No barrier. Just tired eyes that don’t flinch.
“I know,” she says. “But you looked alone.”
She looks out the window again.
“I had it handled,” I say automatically.
“I know.” She pauses, then adds, softer, “That’s not what I meant.”
Silence settles between us—full, not empty.
Then she says, "You shouldn't have to go through this alone."
“Thanks,” I say finally.
Her mouth curves, not quite a smile. “They were going to talk anyway. At least this way they weren’t only talking about you.”
I nod once.
And as her breathing evens out beside me, one thing becomes obvious.
