At the intersection ahead, a black private car was stopped.
Eliza Morgan had just walked past when the car window rolled down.
"Get in."
It was Maxwell Palmer's car.
Eliza Morgan opened the door and got in.
The driver in front didn't eavesdrop or look around recklessly, but drove steadily.
After the car had driven for a while, Ian Harrington was still standing in the same spot.
Maxwell Palmer withdrew his gaze, "Why is he still looking for you?"
Today, he wore glasses with two thin chains, the metal complementing his scholarly restraint. He was looking down, reading the reports on his tablet.
"We're friends."
He looked up, seeing no particular emotion on Eliza Morgan's face.
"Being friends after breaking up."
Eliza Morgan didn't respond, leaning back in her seat. She was teaching two classes and had lectured all afternoon; she was very tired.
