He was on time.
I don’t know why that mattered as much as it did. Small thing. Basic thing. And yet I sat on that bench with my cold coffee and watched Adrian Blackwood come through the park gate at exactly the agreed minute, no assistant, no security detail, just him in a dark coat with his hands in his pockets, and something in my chest did something I told it firmly not to do.
Ethan was already by the railing near the east path bridge, crouched down, peering at the base of the support column with the focused intensity of a structural engineer who had unfortunately been born seven years old. He had been there for four minutes. He had not once looked toward the gate.
Adrian spotted him before Ethan looked up. He stopped walking for just a moment. Just one. Then he kept going.
I watche
