Brandon's POV
As Mr. Pat's car gradually vanished down the winding, tree-lined driveway, the silence enveloping me felt deafening, an eerie contrast to the interview that had just transpired.
I lingered for a moment longer than necessary, my fingers clenched around the keys in my hand, my gaze fixed on the ornate iron gates. They loomed before me, silent sentinels, and I wondered if I stood there long enough, if they might just flip time back to before everything had shifted beneath my feet. My body felt foreign—uncomfortably tight, burdensome, as if I had been carrying an unseen weight for days and my muscles had forgotten how to release the tension.
"Go freshen up," Mr. Pat had said before his car melted into the distance.
I tried to believe he was right.
But then my encounter with Pete shattered that fragile hope, proving Mr. Pat mistaken. It didn't get better; instead, I became acutely aware of my loneliness, a gnawing ache deep inside.
