Tick.
Tock.
Neither of them moved.
Catherine's fingers stayed curled around her purse strap, knuckles white, pulse loud enough she was certain he could hear it.
Maximilian remained exactly where he was… hands open, posture loose, expression unreadable in that infuriatingly composed way of his. The kind of calm that didn't soothe. The kind that dared you to lose control first.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned… Not toward her.
Away.
The tension didn't vanish. It only shifted, like a bowstring eased a fraction but never unnotched.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Catherine," he said quietly, that faint, unreadable smile lingering. "You look like you might actually shoot me."
"Do I?" she replied flatly.
A beat.
He nodded, conceding as if she'd commented on the weather. As if this wasn't a standoff balanced on a hairline crack.
Tick.
Tock.
