Cassian would rather clear a cartel compound alone than enter a supermarket on Saturday afternoon.

Unfortunately, Evie had opinions.

“You need groceries.”

“I have groceries.”

“You have protein powder, coffee, and enough canned tuna to survive a maritime apocalypse.”

“It’s efficient.”

“It’s deeply upsetting.”

Cassian parked the SUV beside the store with visible reluctance.

Rain drizzled lightly across the windshield.

The supermarket glowed ahead of them under harsh fluorescent lights and human suffering.

Evie unbuckled immediately.

“Come on.”

Cassian didn’t move.

Evie looked at him.

“…Why are you sitting like we’re about to breach a hostage situation?”

Cassian scanned the parking lot once more.

“Too many entrances.”

“Oh my God.”

“Three elevated sightlines.”

“This is a grocery store.”

“Unsecured civilians.”

Evie stared at him for a full second.

Then burst out laughing.

“You’re profiling a grandmother with coupons.”

“She’s moving unpredictably.”

“She’s eighty.”

“She could still be unpredictable.”

Evie got out of the SUV before she physically lost consciousness from secondhand embarrassment.

Inside, the supermarket was crowded and loud.

Children screaming.

Carts rattling.

Music playing softly overhead.

Cassian stopped just past the entrance.

Evie noticed immediately.

“What now?”

Cassian’s eyes moved across the aisles automatically.

Exits.

Mirrors.

Blind spots.

A teenager almost hit him with a shopping cart.

Cassian sidestepped without looking.

The teenager apologized instantly.

“…Sorry, sir.”

Cassian nodded once.

Evie stared.

“What was that?”

“What.”

“You dodged that like incoming artillery.”

“It was moving fast.”

“It was a twelve-year-old.”

“Still moving fast.”

Evie grabbed a shopping cart.

Cassian immediately reached for the front handle first.

Reflex.

Positioning.

Control.

Evie noticed that too.

Interesting.

“You know normal people don’t tactical-clear produce sections, right?”

Cassian looked toward aisle seven.

Too many people.

Bad visibility.

“…This store is poorly organized.”

Evie physically stopped walking.

“Are you scared of aisle seven?”

“No.”

“You hesitated.”

“I assessed.”

“That is the same thing with emotional repression.”

Cassian ignored her and kept pushing the cart.

A mother dragging twins moved toward them suddenly from the left.

Cassian adjusted course instantly to avoid collision before she even noticed the children.

Evie watched him quietly for a second.

Tiny things again.

Always tiny things.

Then a little girl near the cereal aisle pointed directly at Cassian.

“Mommy,” she whispered loudly, “that man looks like Batman.”

Evie folded immediately against the cart laughing.

Cassian stayed perfectly still.

The exhausted mother glanced over once.

“…Honestly, yeah.”

Evie nearly died.

“Oh my God.”

Cassian looked deeply tired.

“Continue shopping.”

“No, absolutely not, this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

They reached the coffee aisle.

Evie grabbed her usual brand automatically.

Cassian reached past her and picked up another bag.

Stronger roast.

Less acidic.

The one she switched to last week after complaining the other kind tasted “burnt and emotionally hostile.”

Evie looked at the coffee.

Then at him.

“…You remembered that too?”

Cassian placed the bag into the cart.

“You stopped finishing the other one.”

That stupid tight feeling appeared in her chest again.

Annoying.

Highly inconvenient.

Evie grabbed a box of pasta aggressively to compensate emotionally.

“You’re creepy.”

“You say that frequently.”

“Because you keep behaving like a psychologically advanced surveillance system.”

Cassian reached for bottled water from the top shelf.

“You forgot to buy water last time.”

“That was one time.”

“You drank energy drinks for sixteen hours.”

“That’s called commitment.”

“That’s called kidney damage.”

Evie opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

Rude.

An elderly cashier watched them approach fifteen minutes later with obvious interest.

Mostly because Cassian still looked like a government-trained assassin trapped inside a grocery errand.

Which, technically—

accurate.

The cashier scanned vegetables slowly.

Then looked at Evie.

“You finally got him out of the house, huh?”

Evie blinked.

“…Excuse me?”

The cashier nodded toward Cassian knowingly.

“My Harold used to stand exactly like that in stores.”

Cassian stood beside the cart holding two bags like he was guarding nuclear launch codes.

Evie looked between them carefully.

“…Like what?”

“Like somebody forced him here against his will.”

Cassian answered before Evie could.

“She did.”

The cashier smiled warmly.

“Smart woman.”

Evie pointed immediately.

“See? She understands me.”

Cassian handed over the store loyalty card.

Evie frowned.

“…Why do you have a loyalty card?”

Silence.

The cashier scanned another item.

“Oh, he comes in every Thursday.”

Dead silence.

Evie turned slowly.

“You grocery shop alone?”

Cassian took the receipt carefully.

“Yes.”

“You never told anybody this.”

Kane was going to pass away when she told him.

The cashier reached into a small display near the register.

“Oh, honey, your wife might like this.”

Evie nearly inhaled a grape wrong.

Cassian looked down.

The cashier held out a ceramic sunflower mug.

Yellow paint.

Tiny smiling sunflower.

Absolutely horrifying.

Evie wheezed quietly.

“Oh my God.”

Cassian stared at the mug like it might explode.

“It says ‘Live Laugh Love’ on the other side,” the cashier informed him proudly.

Evie physically grabbed the counter for support.

“No. No no no. I need to see his face right now.”

Cassian looked exhausted beyond language.

The cashier smiled at him patiently.

“Well?”

Long silence.

Then Cassian took the mug.

Evie stopped breathing.

The cashier beamed.

“I knew it.”

Cassian placed the sunflower mug carefully into the cart beside the coffee.

Then looked at Evie.

“For your garage.”

Evie blinked once.

Then twice.

“…That somehow made it worse.”