Leon moved with a slow, careful step. He found a seat at the same long wooden table where Mia sat. It was a motion small enough to seem casual, but it held all the force of a decision. He set his books down, not too close, just within reach, and sat.
Mia felt him before she saw him. That was how the bond worked sometimes — a presence first, a heat at the back of the throat, the faint tug beneath the ribs. She kept reading as if the page needed her attention more than anything else. Her hand rested on the margin, thumb marking the line.
She glanced up when he sat, measuring him like one measures a wind before a storm. Her eyes met his, level and steady. For a breath, they held each other's gaze. She said nothing and then placed her head back on the book, as if nothing had happened.
