The sound of her laughter caught him off guard. It was brief, quiet—but genuine. Erik found himself smiling in return before he even realized he was doing it.
"Excellent," he said. "Then it is settled."
He reached for the keys resting on the entry table, catching them effortlessly as they slid into his palm. A moment later, he held the front door open for her with quiet, old-fashioned courtesy.
"I should warn you," he said as they stepped outside, "Charles has repeatedly informed me that my choice of automobile makes me look like a retired old man."
His eyes flicked toward the gleaming, impeccably maintained dark green vintage Mercedes parked in the drive.
"It is comfortable. It is reliable. And unlike the absurd machines being manufactured today, it was built by actual people and not machines."
He gave the hood an affectionate pat as they approached. "He constantly insists I should buy something 'modern.' To which I say why mess with prefection?"
"Though," Erik added with impeccable composure, "my preference for older automobiles has absolutely nothing to do with the inconvenient fact that, on occasion, my abilities decide to remind me they exist by reducing modern electronics to expensive paperweights."
He ran a hand through his hair with practiced dignity. "Touchscreens, computerized ignitions, parking sensors..." He gave a dismissive wave. "They are all far too fragile."
With a flick of his fingers, the driver and passenger doors swung open. Erik glanced back at Lorna, amusement dancing in his eyes, and a beat passed before the corner of his mouth twitched. "So no, I am not stubborn." Another pause. "I am simply... selecting transportation that is less likely to lose an argument with Magnetism."
