The car is too quiet.
City noise seeps in faintly through the glass—horns, brakes, the low roar of Manhattan—but inside, it’s just the thud of Ava’s pulse and the soft hum of the engine.
She stares straight ahead, fingers clenched in her lap.
Her coffee sits abandoned in the cupholder, cold and forgotten.
Damian watches her for a long beat before he says anything.
“You okay?” he asks finally.
It’s a stupid question.
“No,” she says. “Are you?”
“No,” he says. “But I’m used to it.”
She huffs a humorless breath.
Her chest still feels tight from Leo’s words. From her own.
From the way his face looked when she walked to Damian’s side.
“Leo knows,” she says, voice low. “About… us. It is about more than is safe.”
“Leo’s not blind,” Damian says. “He’s been watching cameras and corridor
