Claire’s POV
I met Reed Michaels on a quiet morning two days after we moved into the house. Jeremy introduces us without ceremony, but the air changes the instant Reed steps closer. It is not dramatic. It is subtle, like a room deciding where the light belongs. My spine straightens without permission, and my voice softens. I find myself attentive in a way I usually reserve for professors and judges and people who can alter the course of a life with a single signature.
Reed watches me with a calm that feels practiced, not cold. His gaze settles, weighs, then warms, as if he chooses kindness deliberately. When he offers his hand, I place mine in it and feel steadied, anchored. He speaks my name as though it has history, and I cannot explain why that makes my throat tighten. There is no fli
