The car ride back to the Rochefort residence passed in silence, but not emptiness.
Montclair drifted outside in long stretches of dim winter light, the roads still damp where the snow had begun to melt unevenly. Streetlights reflected across the glass in brief intervals, moving across Arianne's face and disappearing just as quickly.
Franz sat beside her, not looking at her directly.
He didn't need to.
The space between them was different now.
Not reduced in distance—but in awareness.
Arianne rested one hand against the seat beside her, her posture unchanged, steady in the same way it always was after a long day. If anyone had seen her like this, nothing would have appeared out of place. Her expression remained calm, her gaze directed forward, her breathing even.
Only that gave anything away.
Not the kind that suggested discomfort.
The kind that followed something already decided.
