Riley ignored Harlan completely and walked past him as if he were nothing more than background noise. The silver chains on her back caught the light as she stepped toward our car, her chin lifted high. Even in heels, she moved like someone who refused to bow.
Lewis was waiting by the door in his wheelchair, the perfect picture of calm restraint. But I could feel the quiet strength beneath that act. His presence wrapped around us like an invisible shield.
"This isn't the right time or place," Lewis said evenly.
Harlan's jaw tightened. He swallowed whatever sharp words were rising in his throat and forced himself to nod. "Don't forget our agreement," he reminded Riley.
He reached out to steady her, but Riley pulled away before his fingers could touch her. The rejection was small, but in our world, it meant something. It was a silent refusal of closeness.
Just before the car door shut, we heard his low voice behind us.
"Who told you to dress like that?"
