Dean lasted approximately four minutes in the car before realizing Arion had interpreted their dinner conversation in a way that was becoming increasingly inconvenient.
The partition between the rear cabin and the driver had been raised before they left the restaurant, turning the long black vehicle into a private space of dark leather, muted gold lighting, and heavily tinted windows. Outside, Alamina moved past in streaks of white and amber, snow piled along the edges of the streets while late-evening traffic flowed toward the residential districts.
Dean had barely settled into the corner of the seat when Arion moved closer.
At first, it seemed harmless.
One arm stretched along the backrest behind him.
Then Arion's hand settled at Dean's waist beneath the open edge of his cream coat.
Dean glanced sideways.
Arion looked perfectly composed.
That should have been his warning.
"You are very quiet."
"I am thinking."
