Haruka turned her gaze back to the window, her eyes tracking the frantic, rhythmic blur of the transit system as it tore through the urban veins of the city. The landscape was a smear of concrete and glass, a testament to a world built for movement, for constant, unyielding progress.
"He's going to see that we're close," she said, her voice barely audible over the low, vibrating hum of the train. "He'll notice it."
"He has this way of appearing to be interested in the broad view, the big picture, the horizon, but in reality, he's tracking every minute detail."
"He sees the things most people miss because they're too busy looking at the obvious."
"Like you," Mike said. It wasn't a comparison; it was an observation of a shared frequency.
She turned her head to meet his eyes, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I was going to say like me, yes. Don't steal my observation."
"It's probably one of the reasons you work," Mike said.
