Billy's hand is still on the key, fingers drumming once against the steering wheel before he pulls them away. His sunglasses hide his eyes, but you know the look beneath them—that hard, scanning stare he gets anywhere new.

Max pops her door open and climbs out, boots hitting the asphalt with a decisive thud. She glances back at the two of you through the windshield, expression unreadable.

Billy exhales slowly. Then he turns to you. The sunglasses come off, hooked onto his collar. His eyes are blue and tired, and for a second, he just looks at you.

He reaches over, fingers brushing the inside of your wrist. A small gesture. A private one. The kind of thing no one else gets to see.