The road stretched long and empty ahead of them.
Soft rock played through the speakers as Aubrey drove, both hands steady on the wheel. The sky was dull gray, the kind that made everything feel heavier than it should.
Isabella sat beside her, turned toward the window. Her fist pressed against her jaw, elbow on the door. She stared out at nothing in particular. Just trees. Ruined signs. The blur of highway.
Aubrey glanced at her, brows pulling together, then reached over and turned the volume up.
The guitar swelled through the car.
Isabella finally shifted, looking at the radio, then at Aubrey. A small, almost surprised look crossed her face.
Aubrey caught it from the corner of her eye. "What?"
"I never pegged you for a Guns N' Roses type of girl."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," Aubrey said, a little sharper than she meant to.
Isabella looked back at the road.
Silence settled again, thick but not quiet. The music filled the gaps.
