It’s subtle.

The kind of subtle that only reveals itself when you’ve seen it more than once.

They’re leaving dinner in Monaco, the air warm and salt-kissed from the harbor. The streets are narrow, curved like they were designed for elegance instead of safety. Headlights sweep past in brief flashes of white and gold, engines humming low and expensive.

Carlos is mid-story, hands moving as he talks, laughter spilling easily from him. He walks close, shoulder nearly brushing Max’s, completely at ease in the way someone is when they don’t feel the need to scan their surroundings.

Max does. A car passes a little too close to the curb. Without breaking stride, without interrupting Carlos’ sentence, Max shifts. It’s not dramatic. No grabbing. No tugging. Just a small adjustment of steps.

He moves to the outside. Traffic side. Always. Carlos doesn’t notice the first time.