The morning sun had just begun to cast its golden light across the road, painting the sky with gentle streaks of pink and orange, but inside the car, there was no warmth.
Williams gripped the steering wheel with one hand while the other rested on the gear as he maneuvered the vehicle with the kind of focus that came naturally to him. Dera sat silently in the passenger seat beside him, her body slightly turned toward the window, eyes fixed on the blur of trees and rooftops passing them by. She had not spoken a word since they left the house, and Williams respected the quiet, knowing it was not the silence of indifference but of grief.
He glanced at her briefly, noting the distant look in her eyes. Her expression remained flat, but her posture betrayed her—shoulders tense, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her blouse, and every so often, her lips parted slightly as though on the verge of saying something only to close again.
