Skye watches Knox from across the booth, her fingers curled around the chipped ceramic mug as she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble as he stares out the diner’s window, where the snow falls in heavy, swirling flakes. His dark eyes flicker with something she can’t quite place, like he’s mentally running through a dozen worst-case scenarios. His hands are still. 

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Knox says suddenly, his voice low ...