Page 92 of The Art of Ruin

“She does,” he says, tone dry. “And she has significantly more knots than you do.”

I laugh, the sound soft but real. “I believe that.”

“She doesn’t have the patience to sit still.”

“Neither do I usually,” I admit.

“You have plenty of patience with Letty,” he says over the sound of the dryer.

“She’s different. She makes it easy to be around her. She’s smart, fun, thoughtful.”

I glance at him through the mirror, catching the faint shift at the corner of his mouth this time, something that almost qualifies as a smile.

“She’s all those things, and more.”

The moment stretches a little after that, quieter, but not awkward.

Just… noticeable. I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the process of having my needs taken care of for a change.

“That actually feels really nice,” I say, before I can stop myself.

He doesn’t pause. “Good.”

“I mean it,” I add, softer now, because it feels like it should be said properly. “Thank you.”

His eyes meet mine in the mirror briefly before he looks back to what he’s doing. “You don’t need to thank me for something that needed doing,” he says.

“That’s not why I’m thanking you.”

He doesn’t respond to that.

But something shifts anyway.

Subtle.

Unspoken.

And for a second, neither of us looks away.

15.Adriano

Travel usually settles me.There’s a rhythm to it I understand—things moving when they’re supposed to, people doing what they’re meant to do, everything lining up without unnecessary complication.

Today, I can’t seem to drop into it properly.

Not because anything’s wrong. The car service was on time, our plane was waiting on the tarmac, and everything was as it should be. Except one thing—Casey.

Because I keep noticing her. I can’t keep my focus off her every movement. Watching for a wince, or a grimace of pain.

She says she’s fine.

And she’s a lot better than when I found her in crippling agony. She walked out of the house on her own, didn’t hesitate getting into the car, didn’t ask for help with anything she could manage herself.

Most people would leave it at that. I should leave it at that. I should respect the distance she’s trying to keep. It’s the smart thing to do, and I always do the smart thing.

This time I don’t. I can’t.

Because I’ve already seen what “not fine” looks like on her, and it’s not something I’ll forget quickly. The pain on her face isn’t something I can forget.