He came in. She saw him the moment he crossed the threshold.
The restaurant's warm lamplight caught along his shoulders as he moved through the low-lit room. She watched him scan the space in the small unhurried way a man scanned a room he had been given directions to. His eyes found her almost immediately.
He started toward her.
And Amelia, Amelia Don, who had spent the past several years being the most collected person in every room she walked into, who could hold a boardroom to attention with a raised eyebrow, who had, only around a week ago, been the woman who had authorized a Vanguard maritime team on a hunch, sat in her corner table and watched him walk across the restaurant, and did not, in any honest sense, look away.
She took him in. The easy confident line of the way he moved. The small calm quality of his expression.
