Ace
“I didn’t think you were the sentimental type, Kade.”
A figure stepped into the light, tall and lean, dressed in all black. Kade’s face was partially obscured by the low brim of his hat, but Ace could see enough—the sharp angles of his jaw, the cold intensity in his eyes. He hadn’t changed much, at least on the outside. But Ace knew better than to trust appearances.
“Sentimental?” Kade repeated, his lips curving into a small, humorless smile. “You mistake pragmatism for sentiment. I didn’t come here to reminisce, Ace.”
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