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“You really don’t have to trail behind me.”

“I’m not trailing.”

“You’re literally behind me.”

“That’s geography.”

I stop and look back at him. He lifts one eyebrow. The expression is so familiar that it catches me off guard. Miles does that same expression. The resemblance flashes through me hard enough that my irritation disappears for a second.

Ross notices.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“You looked at me strangely.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

I turn away before he can study me more closely.

“It’s late, Ross.”

“That does not explain anything.”

“It explains enough.”

I keep walking.

The folio is sitting exactly where I left it in the viewing room, tucked beside a stack of reference books near the end of the long table.

“Thank God.”

I cross the room and pick it up. Ross closes the door behind us.

“There was almost no chance anyone had touched it.”

“I know.”

“You still look relieved.”

“It has four days of notes in it,” I say, as I slide the folio beneath my arm and turn around.

Ross is standing closer than I expect.

I stop.

He does too.

The room is quiet enough that I can hear my own breathing.

“We should go,” I say.

“We should,” he replies.

Neither of us moves. His gaze drops to my mouth and the change in the air is immediate. Every part of me knows what that look means. My pulse quickens.