The car glides through the evening streets of Crystal Country, the city bleeding gold and amber into the darkening sky. I sit in the backseat, arms crossed tightly over my chest, my body angled toward the window. My reflection stares back at me—flushed cheeks, eyes still carrying the weight of unfinished anger, lips pressed into a thin line.
Outside, the world moves in a quiet, unhurried rhythm. The city breathes around us, indifferent to the tension coiled in the narrow space between us.
Silas sits beside me. Close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him despite the careful distance I've tried to maintain. His face is turned toward me—soft, sad, like a child who's been scolded and doesn't quite understand why. His eyes search my profile, waiting for a crack in the wall I've built.
He reaches for my hand.
I slap it away without looking at him.
"Don't touch me."
The words land sharp, cutting through the quiet hum of the car. His hand retreats, but only for a moment.
