The man was visibly taken aback.
His gaze settled on my face—my exhaustion, my disarray—and he saw all of it with unsettling clarity.
He didn’t ask anything.
He simply pulled a cigarette from the pack and handed it to me.
I took it. “Thanks.”
A second later, the scratch of a lighter sounded, and a small, flickering flame was lifted to my lips.
His hand was steady, the joints sharp and defined. The firelight lit up his austere profile—and also illuminated my own disheveled state.
I froze for a heartbeat, then lowered my head and imitated his motion, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag.
It burned all the way to my eyes.
I hurriedly exhaled, nearly coughing from the harshness.
He clearly noticed I didn’t know how to smoke. His brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t laugh, didn’t c
