"I'll drive this morning."
Elysia stopped walking.
Damien felt it before she said a word—that subtle, magnetic stillness that meant her mind was already halfway through a protest. Her feet stayed rooted to the polished stone path, and when he turned, her face was expressionless. But her silence? Sharp enough to punch through alloy.
"You have not driven in traffic," she said flatly.
Damien raised an eyebrow, amused by how quickly she'd cut to the core.
"And," she added, a hair quieter but still composed, "you don't have a license yet."
He didn't deny it.
Elysia's arms folded—tight. "City driving is not a simulation. It's not a track. There are unpredictable elements. Civilian routes. Aggressive transit-runners. Looped security patrols."
"I'm aware."
"Madam Vivienne," she continued, voice tightening ever so slightly around the name, "most likely didn't give you permission to drive outside the training grid either."
That earned a smirk.
Because she was right.
