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The doors opened to reveal a car that wasn't a car at all, it was a fortress wrapped in wheels.
The vehicle crouched in the driveway like some predatory beast, its surface drinking in the morning light until nothing reflected back. Pure black metal, smooth as obsidian, seamless in a way that made my eyes struggle to find edges or seams.
This was the third car that I had seen with him since. The first one I had torn through to get to Kustav and then second splintered during the bombing.
Vladimir's hand found the small of my back as we approached, fingers spreading wide against the curve of my spine. The touch was lightābarely thereābut it might as well have been a brand. A chill bloomed under his palm, radiating outward until my entire body hummed with awareness.
His hand flexed.
Just once. A subtle shift of pressure, fingertips pressing deeper for half a heartbeat before returning to their careful restraint.