The sales associate had been waiting ten minutes for my signature. My palms were sweating, my hand too unsteady to hold the pen. She finally said, gently: "Ma'am, just your signature and it's yours. Right next to your husband's."Ethan smiled, that easy warm smile, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Moved?"I said nothing.He wrapped a hand around my wrist. "Too much, too fast?""You've walked through gunfire without flinching. A signature shouldn't be this hard. Treat it like signing a contract. Relax."His tone was patient. Indulgent. Performed.All I could think about was the hallway.We'd survived everything together. Stealing food off the street. Running weapons through the casinos. Fifteen years of living by the blade. At our worst, we were being hunted down by enemies with half a box of bullets between us, and neither of us would load our own clip because we kept trying to give the rounds to the other.Later, when hitmen came for me, Ethan stormed the docks alone, took two gashes
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