Quinn
We end up walking to the nearest park. It’s around seven p.m. but the sun is still up in the sky and the air feels nice and warm, even with the faint breeze that has a specific bite to it that makes Grey’s cheeks look a little bit pink, and a lot more delicious.
He’s walking a step in front of me, his gait reminding me the march of a soldier and it’s then that it hits me. This man is indeed some kind of a soldier. Now, or in the past, but he’s acting like a trained soldier, or any type of warrior - his silent observation, the menace he poses without even having to say or do anything actually threatening, not to mention the way he’s always persistent on keeping things in their right places. Hell, even the way he subdued me that first night and then tied me up to the chair so quickly
