They should have separated after their ordeal.
Logically and strategically, by every system Cael Alexander had ever trusted, distance had always meant control-- containment, predictability, survival.
Instead--
"I am not letting you out of my sights anymore." He said as they walked away from the museum and to his car.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The decision had already settled into place long before language caught up to it.
Galathea Brooks didn't stop walking.
Didn't even look at him at first.
"Please," she said after a beat, tone dry enough to scrape. "As if I'd rather stay in a motel than your air-conditioned penthouse."
A pause.
Then she glanced at him, brief and sharp. "That's not even a competition."
There was an evident agreement between them.
Not soft. Not submissive.
Chosen.
He adjusted without comment, falling into step beside her instead of ahead.
*****
The car slid into traffic like nothing in the world had shifted.
Signals changed.
