Mickaël's expression darkened, a shadow crossing his face. "She's loyal—to her family," he said, bitterness bleeding into the words. "But that loyalty doesn't extend to the truth."
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken memories and buried emotions. Mickaël stepped closer still, his presence almost overwhelming now, and handed her a folded piece of paper. "I'll double your rate," he said, his voice quiet but resolute.
Dragnelle took the paper without hesitation, her gloved fingers brushing briefly against his. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles, a gesture more enigmatic than reassuring.
As they climbed into the Alfa Romeo, Mickaël's hand hovered briefly at her back—a protective gesture, fleeting and almost instinctual. She allowed it without comment, slipping into the passenger seat with practiced ease. The car purred to life, its engine a low, resonant hum that filled the silence between them.
As the city blurred past the windows, neither spoke, the air between them thick with the ghosts of their shared past. Mickaël's hand lingered near hers on the console, close enough to touch but never crossing that line, while Dragnelle's head turned slightly toward him, her expression hidden but her body angled as if drawn to his orbit. Only the steady rhythm of the car's engine punctuated the silence, a sound as steady and unyielding as the tension that bound them together.