The hum of the engine was low, steady. Almost too smooth. Mara sat stiff in the passenger seat, hands curled into her lap like they were trying not to give her away. The rain smeared the outside world into streaks of gold and black, blurring every streetlight into a hush of color.
Inside, the quiet wasn't empty. It was thick. Like the air itself was listening.
Elias didn't speak right away. He didn't have to. He drove with one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting against the gearshift. Calm. Controlled. Like a man who knew exactly where he was going—and what he was taking with him.
Mara glanced at the dashboard. No music. No chatter. Just the rhythm of the city slipping by and the soft thrum of rain against the car roof.
She shouldn't have been here. Every instinct she'd learned growing up in places where bad choices got people swallowed whole was screaming at her. But that scream was quieter than the pull she felt sitting next to him.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked.
Elias's gaze stayed forward. "Somewhere safer than a bus stop at midnight."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one you're getting."
Her jaw tightened. "Do you always talk like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like the world owes you obedience."
He let out a small breath—not quite a laugh. "No. Only when I know I'll get it."
Her pulse tripped, and she hated that it did. "You don't know me."
His eyes flicked to her then, just for a heartbeat. "I know enough."
There it was again. That calm certainty. It wasn't arrogance—not the shallow kind she saw in rich kids at school. His confidence was colder. Sharper. Like a blade that had been tested.
Mara shifted in her seat, pulling the strap of her bag closer. "What if I ask you to stop the car?"
"I'd stop," he said, voice even. "But you wouldn't."
That silenced her.
They crossed the bridge that cut through the city center, the river below swollen from the rain. Streetlights cast long streaks across the wet concrete. For a moment, it almost felt cinematic. The kind of moment you'd regret or crave for the rest of your life.
"You're quiet," he said finally.
"I'm processing," she answered.
"Good. More people should."
She frowned. "You're very sure of yourself."
He smirked slightly. "I've earned the right to be."
The car slowed as they turned onto a street she'd never been on before. Not the loud, showy kind of rich—this was quiet wealth. Elegant iron gates. Tall buildings with black glass. A neighborhood where footsteps didn't echo because people paid to keep the world out.
Mara's fingers clenched around her bag strap. "This doesn't look like a stop for strangers."
"It isn't."
"Then why am I here?"
Elias parked the car under a soft pool of light. He finally turned fully toward her. His eyes were dark and steady, the kind of gaze that didn't ask—it took the truth out of people.
"Because you noticed me," he said softly. "And because I noticed you noticing."
She swallowed. "…That's not a reason."
"It's a beginning."
The way he said it—quiet, unhurried—made her skin prickle. It wasn't a flirt. It was a fact. A door she'd already stepped through.
"Relax," he added, seeing the way her shoulders stiffened. "I'm not kidnapping you. You can leave right now if you want."
The passenger lock clicked softly open.
Mara didn't move. Her brain screamed get out, but her body stayed rooted. His voice had the kind of pull that didn't drag—it invited. Dangerous in the gentlest way.
"Why me?" she whispered again.
"Because," he said, leaning back in his seat, "you looked at me like you knew something was wrong, and didn't run."
And that… was the part that scared her the most. Because he was right.
Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, a storm of a different kind was starting.
She could walk away. She still had that choice.
But instead, she reached for the seatbelt. Slowly. Deliberately. And unbuckled it.
Elias didn't smile this time. He just watched her. Like someone who'd expected this all along.