Habit.
“You’re slow today,” Miles mutters as he steps into the doorway.
I don’t look at him.
“I’m thorough.”
“You’re stiff.”
That—
That gets my attention.
I turn just enough to level a look at him.
“Say that again.”
He grins.
Doesn’t back down.
“Stiff,” he repeats. “Like you’re still working through something.”
I roll my shoulder once.
Subtle.
Controlled.
Pain flickers through my ribs.
Gone just as fast.
“Feels fine to me.”
“Yeah?” Lucas cuts in over comms. “Because from here it looks like you’re compensating on your left side.”
I exhale slowly.
Of course they notice.
They always notice.
“I’m good,” I say.
There it is.
That word again.
Miles huffs a quiet laugh.
“Man, if I had a dollar for every time you said that—”
“Focus,” I cut in.
Because I’m not having this conversation.
Not here.
