It was noon when Lena finally broke the silence, her voice gentle but insistent, threading through the quiet hum of the car.
"Let's stop here, Dylan," she said, a soft pout tugging at her lips, playful yet precise in its demand.
Dylan's eyes flicked toward her. She sat upright, shoulders slightly hunched against the chill that drifted through the slightly cracked window, her cheeks faintly flushed, a rosy bloom that seemed impossible in the cold. There was exhaustion in her eyes, yes, but also mischief, a spark that always found him even in the quietest of moments.
"I'm hungry," she added, emphasizing the last word as if it were a secret weapon, a plea wrapped in charm.
