"Every mile carried the weight of choices unspoken."
The diner smelled of coffee and grease long after they left it behind. Élise carried the warmth of food in her stomach like a fragile ember, afraid it might vanish if she breathed too quickly. The rain had softened into a mist, thin droplets clinging to the window as Matteo guided the car back onto the road.
The tires hissed against wet asphalt. The world outside was drenched in shadows, broken by the passing flicker of streetlamps and the distant hum of trucks laboring through the night.
Élise pressed her forehead lightly against the cold glass, staring at her faint reflection. Her violet eyes looked almost unreal in the blur of headlights, ghostlike, as though she didn't belong to the world she now occupied.
In the silence, she wondered-if she closed her eyes, would she wake up back in her father's house, the smell of smoke and liquor heavy in the air, the sound of her mother's broken sobs echoing through the walls? Was this freedom, or just another kind of cage?
Lorenzo sat across from her again, angled toward the window, his face painted in fragments of light. He hadn't spoken since they left the diner, though the memory of his words-"Because you were the only thing in that house worth taking"-still pressed into her ribs like a bruise.
Her fingers twisted in her lap. She hated silence. Not because it was empty, but because it left room for the voices in her head.
Finally, she whispered, "Thank you."
It was so soft she thought the rain might swallow it, but Lorenzo turned his head, one dark brow lifting slightly.
"For what?" His voice was calm, measured, like every word was chosen before it reached his tongue.
"For the food," she murmured. Her throat tightened, and she quickly looked down at her hands. "No one's ever-" She cut herself off, biting her lip hard. No one's ever cared if I ate.
The corner of his mouth curved faintly, though not in amusement. Something else lingered there-something she couldn't name.
"You shouldn't thank me for necessities," he said, his tone low, almost clipped. "You should expect them."
The car settled into silence again, though heavier now, filled with the weight of words left unsaid.
Élise shifted in her seat, glancing sideways at him. "Do you always watch people like that?"
His gaze slid back to her, sharp as glass. "Like what?"
"Like... like you're trying to see what they'll do before they do it," she said. Her voice was barely audible, yet the honesty of it made her chest ache.
His blue eyes held hers for a long moment. They were dark in the shadows, but when light caught them, they flickered like storm tides-deep, restless, endless.
"It keeps me alive," he said simply.
Her breath hitched. She looked away, heart pounding harder than she wanted it to. He spoke of survival like it was second nature, not something extraordinary, not something exhausting.
And maybe, for him, it wasn't.
The road narrowed into winding turns that climbed into low hills. Fog pressed close, curling around the car like fingers. Matteo slowed slightly, his jaw tight, eyes narrowed against the thickening mist.
They weren't alone on the road. Headlights cut through the fog from the opposite direction, too bright, forcing Élise to close her eyes against the glare.
When she opened them, she caught the faintest change in Lorenzo-his body, once relaxed, was tense now, his hand resting casually but firmly on his thigh, near the inside of his coat.
The passing car slowed as it drew alongside them. For one heartbeat too long, its lights lingered, its engine lowering into a growl.
Matteo's knuckles tightened on the wheel. "They're watching," he muttered.
"I know," Lorenzo replied calmly, though his eyes narrowed.
Élise's breath quickened. Her fingers curled into the seatbelt across her chest as she glanced back. The car finally accelerated, swallowed by the fog until only red taillights glowed faintly in the distance.
"What was that?" Her voice trembled despite herself.
Lorenzo leaned back, exhaling slowly, though the tension didn't leave his frame. "A reminder."
"Of what?"
"That the road is never empty."
His words sent a shiver down her spine. She looked at him, waiting for more, but he offered nothing. His gaze had already shifted back to the window, the reflection of rain-slicked glass painting his expression in fragments.
Matteo cleared his throat softly. "They were from the Bianchi," he said, not looking back. "Scouting, maybe."
The name meant nothing to her, but the way it hung in the air made her skin crawl.
"Bianchi?" she whispered.
"A family with a grudge," Lorenzo said quietly. "One of many."
The car pressed on. The fog thinned into drizzle again, the road straightening as fields stretched into shadowed plains.
Élise turned her head back to the glass, watching the streaks of rain trail downward, each one catching light before disappearing into the dark.
Her stomach twisted-not from hunger this time, but from fear. Who was this man she now sat across from? He wasn't just someone who had pulled her from her house. He was someone who carried entire wars in his silence.
She thought of her father, of the bruises, the bitter stench of his debts. Of the way he had thrown her into every shadow he couldn't face himself.
And now she sat in the shadow of someone else entirely.Her voice trembled when she spoke again. "Why me?"
He turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto hers."You already asked that," he said."I didn't like the answer." The smallest flicker of surprise passed over his features, quickly hidden.Her hands twisted together in her lap. "You said I was the only thing in that house worth taking. That doesn't mean you had to take me."
His jaw tightened. His gaze lingered on her face, her pale skin, the violet eyes that seemed to hold every ounce of defiance left in her.
"You're right," he said at last, voice low. "I didn't."
The words should have been terrifying. Instead, they felt like the ground slipping out beneath her feet, leaving only the storm in his eyes to hold her still.
The car rolled through another stretch of silence. The steady hum of the engine, the rhythm of the rain, the glow of passing signs-all of it wrapped around them like a lullaby too sharp to soothe.Élise leaned her head against the glass again, closing her eyes. For the first time in years, her stomach was full. But her heart felt emptier than ever.
She wondered if this was freedom.
Or if she had only stepped from one cage into another, its bars made not of iron, but of glass.