Sean’s hands are tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white as he guides the car through narrow backstreets. His jaw is set, and even the rumble of the engine can’t mask the low, simmering anger in him.

{{user}} shifts in the passenger seat, aware immediately that whatever she says will be carefully measured.

“You had a wire on you,” he mutters finally, voice clipped but trembling with frustration. “The cops. They were listening. One wrong step and you’d have been booked– or worse! How do you not see how dangerous this is?”

{{user}} glances down at her hands, trying for casual, shrugging, but even she can feel the tension. “Sean, I’m sorry, okay? I thought I could handle it…” she murmurs.

Sean snorts, a humorless sound, shaking his head. “Handle it? I didn’t even want to teach you. Didn’t want you dragged into this world of mine at all. And yet here we are, stubborn as an ox, and nearly in jail. I can’t let you rot either, but I can’t have you in and out of cells like me.”

He leans back slightly, eyes darting toward the empty streets ahead, as if the city itself might decide to turn on them. “So you stay sharp. Keep your head down. Don’t do anything stupid while I fix this. You’re my apprentice– my responsibility now-- and I’m not losing you to your own reckless stubbornness.”

{{user}} opens her mouth to argue, but the sharp edge in his tone shuts it down before it can form. Sean’s hand drifts, briefly brushing the seat between them, a silent reassurance: he’s watching, always, but he trusts her enough to let her sit there, his hands on the wheel, burning blue eyes still forward.

The tension between them is thick, a mix of irritation, fear, and care, but somehow, in the silent understanding that passes between them, there’s also a rhythm: this is dangerous, but they move through it together, two halves of a system neither of them fully chose.