Luke sobered slightly. “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “she’s not someone who does anything halfway.”
Reid’s mouth shifted slightly.
“I know.”
Luke headed out.
“And if this implodes, I warned you.”
“Go home, Hale.”
The door shut.
Reid stood alone for a moment.
This wasn’t strategy.
It wasn’t optics.
It wasn’t rebellion.
It was her.
He grabbed his keys.
And left.
Eleanor’s House — Arrival
The Jaguar rolled up the drive, headlights sweeping across white brick and black shutters.
Reid cut the engine.
The mountain air carried that early-evening chill—enough to sharpen awareness.
He stepped out, adjusted his jacket once.
He took the porch steps two at a time and knocked once.
The door opened.
And every line he’d planned on the drive over disappeared.
Emerald silk.
Bare shoulders.
Hair down—softer than court, less armor.
He went still.
For a full beat.
“Eleanor.”
Not Ellie.
Eleanor.
