The city had begun to fold into evening by the time Senna stepped out of Voss Holdings. The sky had taken on that dusky lavender shade that belonged only to the hour between rush and quiet, the hour where tired people floated between what the day had demanded and what the night might still hold. Cars crawled along the street. A light breeze pulled at her sleeves. The world felt softer than it had inside the walls she'd just left behind.
She paused near the pavement, pressing a hand briefly against her bag as if steadying her own thoughts. The session had drained her in that familiar way—mentally, emotionally, deeply—but it wasn't the departments that lingered behind her ribs. It was the meeting with Calder. It was the way he listened too intently, spoke too cautiously, as though unused to someone who didn't back away from the sharp edges of his mind.
There had been a moment—just a flicker—where she had seen something fragile in him. Something he seemed unaware of but that she could feel, like a light beneath a heavy curtain. She didn't know what to do with that. She didn't even know if she wanted to do anything at all.
A sudden gust of wind swept across the road, bringing with it the faint scent of rain. Senna looked up at the sky and noticed how the clouds had gathered, darkening at the center like bruises. She hadn't brought an umbrella, and the walk to the nearest train stop wasn't short.
She took one step forward—then her phone vibrated.
She pulled it out of her bag and saw a short message glowing on the screen.
From: Unknown
Your umbrella is in the car. Look to your left.
Her brows drew together. She lifted her head.
A sleek, black car rested by the curb.
The door opened slowly from the inside.
And Calder stepped out.
He wasn't wearing the cold formality she had seen earlier. He had taken off his jacket, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up just once at the forearm. The look softened him in a way he didn't seem aware of, but she noticed immediately.
He walked toward her, not quickly, not with the arrogance of someone used to people waiting—just steady, almost hesitant, as if the moment belonged to both of them and he didn't want to disrupt it.
"You mentioned earlier you didn't drive," he said quietly, stopping a short distance from her. "It looks like rain."
Senna glanced up at the sky again. "It might hold off."
"It won't," he replied, and there was something warm under his tone, something that almost sounded like concern disguised as logic. "Let me give you a ride."
"That's not necessary. I don't want to be a bother."
"You're not," he said, and the words were so simple, so unforced, that refusing felt like denying the truth of them.
She hesitated—not because she didn't trust herself, but because she knew what this might become if she pretended it meant nothing. There was a closeness forming between them, subtle but unmistakable, and stepping into his space felt like stepping into a promise neither of them had voiced.
But then the sky rumbled, low and heavy, and rain began to fall in soft, deliberate drops.
Calder lifted a brow, waiting.
Senna exhaled and nodded. "All right."
He opened the car door for her, and she slid into the seat. The interior smelled faintly of clean leather and something warm—cedarwood, maybe. When he entered on the other side and closed the door, the sound of the rain outside grew distant, softened by the insulation of luxury and silence.
For a few breaths, they didn't speak.
The city lights streaked past the windows as the car pulled away from the curb, and the atmosphere between them settled into something quiet and unfamiliar. His presence didn't feel heavy. It felt… precise. Like he occupied only the space he meant to, leaving room for her to breathe.
"How was your ride this morning?" he asked, eyes forward.
"It was fine," Senna replied. "Yours?"
"I don't usually remember the drive," he said. "I treat it like a transition. A way to shift into work. Today was different."
"How so?"
"I remembered it."
She turned her head to look at him. His face was calm, but she saw the truth in the small tension near his jaw. He wasn't used to telling people anything personal, even something as harmless as that. It had cost him something gentle to admit it.
"Was it good or bad?" she asked.
He paused, as if searching for the safest answer, then chose the honest one.
"Unexpected."
Unexpected.
A word that carried more weight than he intended.
The car curved through a quieter street now, where street lamps cast long beams of light through the soft rain. The sound of droplets tapping against the glass made the space feel more intimate, more sealed from the world.
Senna shifted slightly, turning toward him. "You don't have to explain yourself to me," she said. "Our working relationship doesn't require anything beyond honesty about the problem."
"Does it bother you that I'm interested in your perspective?" he asked.
"No," she said softly. "It just feels… unusual."
"You speak to me differently than most people do."
"That's because I'm not afraid of you."
He let out a breath—almost a laugh, though it was too quiet and too rough to be called one.
"Most people are."
"I'm not most people."
"I've noticed."
The temperature inside the car seemed to shift, not warmer, but closer. As if the space between them had become aware of itself.
"May I ask something?" Calder said after a moment.
"Of course."
"When you said I inspire the wrong kind of fear… did you mean that I'm the sort of man people avoid?"
"No," she said. "You're the sort of man people don't know how to get close to."
He didn't respond immediately. His hands tightened subtly around the steering wheel, not harshly, but in a way that revealed the weight of something long buried.
"I don't know if that's something I can change," he murmured, almost to himself.
"You don't have to change everything," Senna replied gently. "Just let people see the parts that aren't made of steel."
"And if those parts are gone?"
"They're not," she said. "I saw a few of them today. You just hide them well."
His breath caught—barely—but she heard it.
Silence settled around them again, but this time it felt warmer. Not heavy. Not dangerous. Just aware.
"You observe too much," he said, though there was no irritation in his tone.
"It's my work."
"Is it?" he asked. "Or is it who you are?"
Her heart moved in her chest, unexpectedly. "Maybe both."
The car slowed as they reached her street. Rain streaked down the windows now in heavy sheets, turning the world outside into blurred lights and shadowed shapes.
He pulled up gently near her building, then turned off the engine.
The sudden quiet made her pulse louder in her ears.
"Thank you for the ride," she said, fingers brushing lightly against her bag.
"You're welcome."
He didn't move to open his door.
He didn't reach for anything.
He just looked at her, his gaze steady, searching her face as if trying to memorize something he hadn't planned to.
For a moment, she felt suspended — not caught, not held, but seen in a way she didn't expect.
She reached for the handle, but before she opened the door, she turned back to him.
"Goodnight, Mr. Voss."
His eyes softened—just a trace, but unmistakable.
"Goodnight, Senna."
She stepped into the rain, letting the cool drops fall across her hair and coat. She didn't rush inside. She let herself feel the air, the night, the strange flutter of something she was not ready to name.
Inside the car, Calder watched her walk toward her building until she disappeared behind the entrance doors.
Only then did he lean back against the seat, closing his eyes as the rain tapped gently against the roof.
And for the first time in a very long time, he let himself whisper the thought that had been growing quietly all day:
She unsettles me.
And I don't want it to stop.