Luiz tucks it away quickly, as if memories are contraband.
You open the back door of your car and they hesitate, staring at leather seats the way starving people stare at a bakery window.
“Careful,” you say gently. “You’re allowed to sit.”
That line makes Ravi blink, confused, like permission is a foreign language.
On the drive, they don’t talk.
They flinch when you brake too hard. They watch every passing car like it might be the one that returns them to nothing.
You glance in the mirror and catch Ravi staring at your hands on the steering wheel.
He whispers, so soft you almost miss it.
“Are you a cop?”
You let out a short breath.
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