Adrian Hayes stood near the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened and forgotten somewhere after a fourteen-hour day. One hand wrapped around a mug of coffee gone cold, the other pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to the sound of small feet racing across hardwood floors.

Adrian exhaled through his nose, the hard lines of his face easing as he bent to lift her into one arm.

There was a smear of what looked like yogurt on the sleeve of her shirt.

Adrian’s gaze lingered half a second too long.

The babysitter moved closer, kneeling to slip the shoe back onto May’s foot with practiced patience. She didn’t seem bothered by the chaos, or by the late hour, or by the fact that most people found Adrian Vale difficult to stand near for more than five minutes.

That alone made her different.

He watched her too often lately. The way she remembered which cup each child wanted. The way she could stop tears before they started. The way the apartment no longer felt hollow when she was in it.

He didn’t like noticing those things.

Instead, he found himself speaking before reason could catch up.