BY THE TIME SUNDAY MORNING rolled around, the tension from the "Julian incident" had been replaced by a strange, domestic truce.
Mailah had insisted on one last walk along the shore. This time, she didn't ask for a picnic; she simply asked for his company. Grayson, perhaps sensing that the weekend was ending and his "fortress" was about to be tested, agreed without his usual lecture on tidal surges.
They walked in silence for a while, the wind whipping Mailah's hair across her face. Grayson reached out, catching a stray strand and tucking it behind her ear with a grace that still felt alien to his large, powerful frame.
"You are thinking about the city," he noted.
"I'm thinking about what happens when we go back," Mailah admitted.
Grayson stopped, turning her to face him. The morning sun was bright, making the blue of his eyes look like clear glass.
