“That's a very specific threat.”
“Is it working?”
Yes. God help me, yes. But I wasn't admitting that. Instead I opened my door, climbed out, walked around to the passenger side while Dom shifted over with only slightly less grace than should be possible for someone his size.
I slid into the passenger seat, watched him adjust the mirrors, the seat position, taking control of my space with casual authority that should have bothered me more than it did.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Southwark. Turkish place I know. Best lamb in London.” He pulled away from the kerb with smooth competence, navigating evening traffic like he'd driven these streets a thousand times. “You've been?”
“To Southwark or to Turkey?”
“Either.”
“Never made it out of the country much. Work keeps me local.” I settled back against the seat, let exhaustion bleed into my bones now that I wasn't actively fighting it. “What about you? You strike me as someone who's seen things beyond London's borders.”
“Some. Worked private security before Adrian. High-risk clients in places where official protection wasn't reliable.” He took a turn onto Tower Bridge, the Thames glittering dark below us. “Istanbul. Lagos. São Paulo. Anywhere money and danger intersected.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Sounds exhausting. Which it was.” His hands were relaxed on the wheel, movements economical. “Good money though. And it taught me to read threats fast. Figure out who's dangerous before they announce it.”
“Is that your professional assessment? That I'm dangerous?”
“I think you're a different kind of dangerous. The kind that doesn't announce itself with weapons.” He glanced at me. “The kind that gets under people's skin and makes them do things they wouldn't normally do.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “That's a very dramatic way of saying I'm persuasive.”
“That's me saying you're trouble wrapped in competence. Which is its own kind of weapon.” But he was smiling. “When's the last time you did something that wasn't work? Just existed. Relaxed.”
“People who relax die.”
“People who never relax burn out and make mistakes that get them killed.” He took another turn, heading south. “There's a difference between vigilance and self-destruction.”
“Is there? Because from where I'm sitting, they feel pretty similar.”
“Then you're sitting wrong.” His voice went quieter. “You can't sustain this pace, Cal. Eventually something breaks. Either the case breaks or you do. And if you break first, Harrow wins by default.”
The observation landed with uncomfortable accuracy. “I'll rest when he's destroyed.”
“That could take years.”
“Then I'll rest then.”
“Or you'll collapse in weeks and accomplish nothing.” Dom pulled into a car park behind a row of restaurants, cut the engine. “You're brilliant at what you do. But brilliance doesn't matter if you're too exhausted to think clearly.”
“Fine,” I said. “You've made your point. I'll eat. I'll sleep. I'll engage in basic human maintenance so you can stop lecturing me about self-care.”
“Good. Come on. Food first. Existential crisis second.”
Dom ledme to a corner table, ordered for both of us in what sounded like competent Turkish that made the server's face light up.
“You speak Turkish,” I said when the server left.
“Enough to order food and not embarrass myself. Don't ask me to discuss philosophy.” He poured water from the carafe, slid a glass toward me. “Drink. You're dehydrated.”
“You're very bossy when you're feeding people.”
