Aveline had ordered for him without asking, a silent, unilateral decision that sent a jolt of recognition through him.
It was the second time she had bypassed the social requirement of permission, the first being the night he had sat in her living room, blood drying on his skin, while she had pressed antiseptic and gauze to his cheek with a clinical, unblinking efficiency. She didn't ask what he wanted; she simply provided what was necessary.
The drink was placed on the correct side of the table, positioned perfectly for his reach. It was a subtle, almost microscopic detail, but to Mike, it was a loud declaration.
She had been observing him. She had mapped his habits, noted his preferences, and adjusted the world around him to accommodate them without ever needing to verbalize the observation.
She was learning his geometry.
"Thank you for the article," she said, her gaze steady as she broke the silence.
