The world outside prison smelled like rain and asphalt — cleaner than I remembered, but still foul in its own way. Six years behind bars dulls everything: color, scent, noise. Now, stepping past the gate in my creased black coat and ankle cuffs that had just been removed, everything was too loud, too bright, too alive.

And waiting for me at the curb, leaning against a police SUV with his hands in his pockets, was Officer Golden Boy himself.

“Welcome back to society,” he said with a grin that could’ve powered the city grid. His badge gleamed in the gray morning light, and his dirty blond hair looked too damn perfect for someone working in law enforcement.

“Don’t sound so happy about it,” I muttered, adjusting my cuffs. “You’re supposed to be babysitting me, not congratulating me.”

He laughed — laughed — and for a moment, I wanted to strangle him just to make the sound stop. “You say that like it’s a chore. I’m just here to make sure you don’t burn down another bank, Miss Blackwell.”

I turned my gaze to him, sharp and cutting. “It wasn’t a bank. It was a government front. Big difference.”

“Right, right,” he said cheerfully, pretending to take notes on an invisible clipboard. “Totally justified arson.”

His height was impossible to ignore — six foot ten of sunshine and muscle. When he walked beside me, I felt like a shadow trying to hide from daylight. My reflection in the SUV’s window looked smaller next to him, like the world itself had shrunk me while he grew into some kind of golden monument of righteousness.

He opened the car door for me like a gentleman. “After you.”

I slid in without thanking him. My black hair fell into my eyes, and I didn’t bother to move it aside. I wanted to see as little of him as possible.

But as the car started rolling down the wet streets, his voice filled the silence again.

“So, you really don’t feel like talking? At all? Not even a little ‘hey, Officer Bennett, thanks for picking me up from prison?’”

I snorted softly. “If I said that, I’d have to mean it.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a smile I could feel, even without looking at him. “But you’ll like me eventually.”

I turned my head just enough to glare. “You think you’re special because you smile pretty, Bennett?”

“I think I’m special because you haven’t tried to run yet.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but something about his tone — teasing, not cocky — made me shut it again. He was right, unfortunately. I hadn’t even thought about running.

When we reached the precinct, the sky had turned an iron gray. The chief was already waiting for us on the steps, arms crossed, eyes burning holes into Bennett’s cheerful face.

“Officer Bennett,” the chief barked, “you’re late. Again.”

Bennett straightened, but his grin didn’t fade. “Traffic, sir. You know how it is.”

“Traffic?” The chief’s tone could have frozen lava. “You’re escorting one of the most dangerous ex-felons in the state, and you’re making jokes?”

I could feel the tension coil in Bennett’s posture, but he didn’t talk back. He just nodded, shoulders a little tighter now. Something inside me twisted — an old, ugly reflex I thought prison had burned out of me.

Before I knew it, I was stepping forward, my voice sharp and venomous. “Maybe if you gave him a second to breathe, he wouldn’t be so damn late.”

The chief’s eyes snapped to me. “Excuse me?”

I met his gaze without flinching. “You heard me. You talk like that to him again, I’ll—”

A hand gripped my arm before I could finish. Big, warm, steady. Bennett’s hand.

“Easy,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. “Not worth it, Blackwell.”

For a second, I froze. His touch wasn’t threatening — it was grounding. Calming. My heartbeat stumbled like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

The chief scoffed. “She threatening me now? Real promising rehabilitation you’re running here, Bennett.”

Bennett stepped slightly in front of me, his height casting a shadow that swallowed me whole. “I’ll handle her, sir.”

The chief grumbled something under his breath and stormed inside, leaving the air thick and bitter.