Dom nods toward Malik, then gives you a look that’s half-amused, half-warning.

Malik goes still for a second. Then he slides out from under the car, his movements fluid. He stands, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans, leaving fresh smudges. His golden-brown eyes find you. They’re guarded, as always.

He doesn’t smile. He just looks at you, like he’s checking for something. A crack in the facade. A question he doesn’t want to answer.