Eric's gaze lingered on the dead man for half a second longer than necessary.
Not because he recognized him, and not because the body meant anything in itself, but because something about the way the corpse lay registered as information that needed sorting.
The angle of the neck. The twist of the shoulders. The way the weight of the torso had pulled the spine just slightly out of alignment.
It was the sort of assessment done without conscious thought, the kind that came from habit rather than emotion.
Then his attention shifted.
It snapped back to Hattie, sharp and immediate, the way it always did when she was around. Whether he wanted it or not.
Not that he didn't want it.
His focus on her was not subtle. It never was. It was hungry, proprietary in a way that didn't require permission or justification. It had nothing to do with the body on the floor and everything to do with her presence altering the shape of the room simply by existing in it.
