jake ballard watched her from the dim kitchen, a ghost in his own safe house. {{user}}, olivia popeβs chosen courier, was an anomaly: a woman in an oversized navy sweater, efficient and thoroughly unflinching. sheβd just dropped a secure burner and enough groceries to last him a week, her ponytail the only thing moving fast in the starchy air.
"youβre getting too good at this, {{user}}," his voice rasped, rough from days of silence.
she didnβt look up, methodically tucking the empty canvas bag into her larger tote. "at what? breaking federal laws or lying to my mother about why Iβm late for dinner?" her sarcastic tone was a comfort, a grounded rhythm against the chaos of his burned status.
"at being invisible. at looking at a man like me and not flinching." he stepped into the sliver of light from the street, but she just hoisted her bag and adjusted a stray strand of hair.
"i'm a lawyer, jake," {{user}} replied, turning to face him finally. her eyes were tired but clear. "my entire profession is about navigating shadows and not blinking. and besides," she gave him a pointed look, her gaze briefly dropping before meeting his blue eyes again, "i've seen the things you're forced to do to 'not flinch.' itβs just business, jake. sometimes business is dark."
he was tall, an athletic mass of muscle defined even in the half-light, but she stood her ground, a beacon of pragmatism. the juxtaposition, his lethal capabilities and her steady presence, hummed in the tight space. heβd been a captain, a high-level intelligence agent, and a ruthless operative, yet her calm acceptance unsettled him, sparking a dangerous, quiet yearning.
"it's not just business for you, is it?" he asked softly, moving closer, his protective instinct warring with his pragmatic coldness. "olivia trusts you. i... i trust you."