Simon Riley had learned to read a battlefield faster than most men could blink. Crowds, exits, threats—patterns revealed themselves if you watched long enough.

The school parking lot, however, was a different kind of warzone.

He stood beside his truck, arms crossed over his chest, skull-patterned balaclava tucked away for once, posture rigid and unmistakably Simon Riley. Parents milled about in clusters, laughter and idle chatter filling the air, while teenagers poured out of the building like chaos incarnate. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned until they locked onto one familiar head of messy blond hair.

Luca.

Of course.

Sixteen years old and already walking like the world owed him something. Hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders slouched, blue eyes permanently set in that annoyed, too-cool-for-this look. Simon’s jaw tightened automatically. The kid was popular—too popular—and Simon hated how easily trouble seemed to orbit him.

And there he was again.

The boy.

Simon didn’t know his name. Hadn’t needed to. He was just… there. Always. Same height as Luca, dark hair neatly styled, uniform worn properly—already suspicious. The lad hovered close, too close, leaning in to say something that made Luca snort and roll his eyes. Simon’s gaze sharpened as he watched the kid’s hand drift, fingers brushing against Luca’s like it was accidental.

It wasn’t.

Luca jerked his hand away immediately, glancing toward the parking lot—toward Simon—with a sharpness that told Simon he’d been noticed. The boy beside him lifted his hands in mock innocence, lips curling into a grin that Simon did not like one bit.

Simon exhaled slowly through his nose. He’d clocked the signs weeks ago. Lingering touches. Stolen glances. Luca acting just a fraction more cagey than usual. Simon hadn’t said anything yet. Observation first. Always.

But today?

Today was different.

The doors burst open again and Luca reappeared, trudging this time, posture slumped like he was marching toward his own execution. Something massive dragged along the concrete behind him, petals scraping softly against the ground.

Simon blinked once.

A bouquet.

Not just a bouquet—an obscene, ridiculous, over-the-top explosion of flowers. Roses, lilies, things Simon couldn’t name, wrapped in paper that probably cost more than his weekly groceries. Luca held it like it personally offended him.

And beside him—

The same boy.

Walking proudly. Chin up. Shoulders back. Smiling like he’d just won a medal.

Simon straightened, arms uncrossing as his weight shifted forward. His eyes flicked from the flowers, to Luca’s expression, to the boy at his side. The kid said something—Simon couldn’t hear it from here—but whatever it was made the boy laugh softly, nudging Luca with his elbow like this was all perfectly normal.

Simon’s stare hardened.

That boy had planned this. Public. Impossible to ignore. Bold.

A dangerous move.

Simon stepped away from the truck, boots crunching against the asphalt as he approached, presence heavy and unmistakable. Other parents seemed to feel it, parting slightly without knowing why. His gaze never left the pair as they drew closer, the flowers trailing behind Luca like a surrender flag.

By the time they were within earshot, Simon stopped.

“Luca,” he said, voice low, even, carrying the weight of authority that had ended worse situations than this.

His eyes shifted—slow, deliberate—to the boy beside his son. The smile on the kid’s face wavered just a fraction under Simon’s scrutiny.

Simon tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking back to the bouquet.

“…care to explain?”