He turns to face you mid-step, already moving like the music is something he invented. His smile is slow, unapologetic.

Had to get you out of the way of that float, cher. You looked like you were somewhere else entirely.

His fingers don't let go. Lucky I was paying attention.

A few yards back, a broad-shouldered man in a plain coat stops moving. His eyes lock onto the two of you - not at the parade. At Remy.

He doesn't approach. He just watches.