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“Judgment wrapped as kindness?”

She nods. “Exactly.”

“Babs once flushed an entire packet of crayons because she wanted to find out whether the toilet could make a rainbow.”

Emma turns toward me. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

“What happened?”

“My plumber retired halfway through the conversation.”

She folds forward with a laugh. “No…”

“He stared into the toilet for a full minute before asking whether I’d been raising children or abstract artists.”

By the time I turn onto her street, the rain has eased enough that the wipers finally get a break, and neither of us seems particularly interested in acknowledging that we’ve reached her apartment.

I ease the car against the curb and switch off the engine.

Emma gathers her bag, then rests it on her lap instead of opening the door straight away. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

“It wasn’t a hardship.”

She looks through the windscreen at the rain dripping from the trees before turning back toward me. “I’ve really enjoyed tonight.”

“So have I.” She reaches for the door handle. “Emma.” Her hand pauses. “When you get upstairs, send me a text.”

She gives me a sideways look. “You do realize that makes you sound ridiculously protective.”

“It probably does.”

“My building has security.”

“I know.”

She studies me, amusement gradually giving way to a softer smile. “You were a bodyguard for a long time.”

“I was.”

“So this is permanent, isn’t it?”

“I’m beginning to think it might be.”

She laughs under her breath. “Fine. I’ll text. Give me your number.”

I type it in, then watch as she pushes the door open, then leans back into the car before stepping out.

My phone buzzes before I’ve reached the end of the street.

Emma: Upstairs safely. Happy?

A smile finds me before I can stop it.

Bane: Very.

The reply appears almost as soon as I pull up at the next set of lights.