The subway was crowded that evening, a rush of tired faces and damp coats pressed together in the narrow car. Ava clung to the overhead rail, swaying with the motion of the train. She was thinking about the photograph — about what Damien had said — when she felt it.
A sudden jolt. The train lurched violently, throwing her off balance. Her heel slipped on the wet floor, and before she could fall, a strong hand caught her by the waist.
She looked up.
Damien stood close, his other hand gripping the rail above her head. The space between them was barely an inch, the scent of rain still clinging to his coat. His eyes held hers for just a moment longer than necessary.
"You should be more careful," he said quietly.
"Maybe you should stop following me," she countered, her voice steady even though her pulse was not.
He didn't let go immediately. His thumb brushed the edge of her coat, just enough for her to feel it, and then he released her. The train slowed, the moment dissolving into the noise of the crowd as people pushed past to exit.
Later that night, Ava found herself replaying that brief touch over and over, wondering if she had imagined the warmth of his hand or the way his gaze had lingered. But deep down, she knew she hadn't.
And she also knew something else — she was no longer just curious about Damien Vale. She wanted to know everything about him, even if it meant stepping into whatever shadows followed him.