The silence in my car on the drive away was heavier than any sound. It was the silence of a tomb, thick with ghosts Caden had so eagerly resurrected.
My knuckles throbbed, a dull, satisfying ache against the leather of the steering wheel. The skin was split over two of them. I barely registered it.
The tires peeled away from the curb with a low, angry growl, the engine roaring as I shifted gears like I needed to punish the car for what was crawling through me. My jaw ached from clenching. My pulse beat fast and tight, drumming under my skin like war.
I didn't go back to the office. I didn't go home.
I didn't think. I just drove.
Back to her.
Back to the one person who tethered me to anything resembling reason.
The city blurred around me—lights, buildings, people. None of it registered. My knuckles were raw, blood dried along the ridges.
When I reached St. Lambert's, Camron was waiting by the entrance, his eyes followed my hands as I got out of the car.
