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Adrien was across from me, legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other, staring at the floor like he had a personal vendetta against it. He hadn't said more than three words since we left the hotel, and the silence between us was thick, filled with all the things we weren't saying.
Occasionally, his knee would bounce a couple times, then stop, as if he was trying to hold back from pacing the length of the limo. I wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand or crack some silly joke about us being in our own low-budget thriller, but the words just wouldn't come. So instead, I watched the city lights blur across his face, trying not to dwell on how badly this could all go south.
