There was the faintest hint of expression I couldn’t read in Morrison’s blue gaze. No: I could read it. All it would take was shifting my sight a little, letting myself see what the colors of his aura told me. I didn’t do it, and after a few seconds he said, “I think I’d better not.”

I didn’t mean to close my eyes. I didn’t want to. It was too much of a give-away. Still, my eyelids pressed shut for a moment, my heart lurching like I’d taken a hit. Or, maybe more accurately, a hint. The door on was it real had closed. I opened my eyes again and nodded a little, somewhat astonished at my ability to keep breathing. “See you at work, then, sir.” One more nail in the coffin. I offered a faint smile that felt like regret, and said, “Captain,” very softly.

“Detective,” he said, almost as softly, and now that we knew where we stood, he got in his car and drove away. I watched sunlight glitter off his bumper as the Toyota turned out of sight, then put my chin against my chest, eyes closed for a few moments. Making a deliberate choice as to my path didn’t feel quite as liberating as I wished it did, but it was a place to begin. I exhaled and scooped up my toolbox, patting Petite’s roof as I slid the box into the passenger-side foot well and climbed into my car after it. There were a few hours until dinner. Maybe I’d see how fast and how far I could go, before then. “It’s a place to start,” I murmured aloud.

Petite rumbled agreement as I turned the ignition. I even found a smile by the time we hit the road.