Cyrus returned to the table, his expression carefully neutral. "Ready?"
Kane nodded, following him out to the car. The silence stretched between them like a chasm as Cyrus started the engine.
The drive to the BSA felt endless. Kane watched Cyrus's profile, noting the tight set of his jaw and the way his knuckles stood out white against the steering wheel.
Finally, Kane couldn't stand it anymore.
"You want to get married."
It wasn't a question.
Cyrus's grip tightened further. "Does it matter what I want?"
"Of course it matters." Kane twisted in his seat to face him. "Cyrus, look at me."
"I'm driving."
"Pull over."
"We're almost—"
"Pull over."
Cyrus sighed but guided the car into a parking lot of a quiet strip mall. He cut the engine but kept his eyes fixed forward.
"You called it a social construct," Cyrus said quietly.
Kane felt a deep ache in his chest at the quiet hurt expressed in Cyrus's voice. "I was caught off guard. Rina put me on the spot."
