Mira fell asleep before we had even cleared the bakery district.
Her head had been leaning against the window at first, city lights reflecting in her eyes. Then slowly, gently, she shifted toward me, resting her cheek against my shoulder like it was the only place in the world that made sense.
I adjusted my arm around her without waking her.
She sighed, a soft, tired sound that hit me in the chest harder than any bullet ever had.
I looked down at her.
Her lashes were still damp from the last hour, even though she had tried to hide it. Her breathing was steady now, but I could still feel the tension in her. She had not let it reach the surface, but I saw it. I saw everything she tried to carry alone.
She had always been like that. She was strong, quiet and stubborn in her own gentle way. She held her fear inside her chest like it was something she had to manage on her own, something she didn't want to burden me with.
But she didn't understand that her fear was mine too.
