The city felt louder after breakfast, as if every horn and heel-click had conspired to remind me that life existed beyond the gravity of Branson Drowing. The sidewalk stretched out like a tightrope, and I walked it with his words echoing in my head.
I manage people. Money. Risks.
He hadn’t lied. Not exactly. But he hadn’t told me the whole truth, either. And yet the strangest part was—I didn’t feel betrayed. I felt curious. Hungry. Like someone had cracked open a door and let me glimpse a hallway full of locked rooms.
I glanced at him as we walked. His hand was still in mine, steady and warm. He wasn’t gripping; he was holding, anchoring. The subtle difference made all the difference.
“You’re not going to tell me more, are you?” I asked.
His mouth curved faintly. “Not yet.”
“Not yet,
