“Hopefully waiting out a storm,” he replied mildly, though something in his voice made her stomach flip, the low timbre of his words seeming to resonate somewhere she was yet to pinpoint.

So this is where I’m at right now.

He seems comfortable.

Probably used to situations like this you know.

They’d ended up here because of Martinez’s insistence that everyone clear out before the storm hit. The lobby had been chaos just fifteen minutes ago - attorneys and staff rushing to gather belongings as thunder rolled in the distance.

“We can’t leave these unprocessed,” Juniper had said, clutching the Delaney files as they emerged from the basement archives. Without thinking, she’d added, “My place is just two blocks from the bullet.” The words had hung in the air between them, implying more than they may have both wished.

The walk had felt endless, the storm chasing them through the darkening streets. She’d been acutely aware of his presence beside her, his longer stride unconsciously shortening to match hers. They’d barely made it inside her building before the first heavy drops fell, their footsteps echoing in the elevator as they rode up in charged silence.

Now she observed him leaning on his left knee, angled just so in her living room’s dim light. His suit jacket hung carefully over her coat rack, water still beading on the expensive fabric like stars against the dark sky. The absence of that formal barrier made him seem both more approachable and somehow more dangerous.