The car moved through the city without interruption.
Lights passed in quiet intervals-- red to green, green to amber-- reflections sliding across the windshield in patterns that felt too steady for everything that had already shifted beneath them.
Inside, the silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It was… full and contained.
Galathea sat angled slightly toward him, her shoulder resting back against the seat, one hand loose in her lap.
Her gaze kept drifting, not sharply, not obviously.
Just-- returning.
Again. And again.
To him.
The way his hands stayed steady on the wheel, fingers relaxed but precise. The slight tension in his jaw when traffic slowed, the way his attention moved without effort between mirrors, road, distance.
She quietly and deliberately took it in like something she needed to keep.
Cael noticed.
Of course he did.
He didn't look at her immediately.
Let it happen once.
Twice. Three times.
