The car hums into silence.
Not the sharp silence of something ending, but the slow, deliberate kind—the kind that settles into the bones after a long night.
The rain hasn't stopped. It never really does this time of year in Crystal Country. It clings to the windshield in delicate threads, catching the amber glow of the streetlights before sliding away in quiet rivers. Each droplet traces its own path, unhurried, as if the rain itself is in no rush to arrive anywhere.
I kill the engine.
For a moment, the world holds its breath.
Then I step out.
The rain meets me immediately. Not harsh. Not heavy. Just cold enough to remind me that winter has already settled into this country. The droplets cling to my hair first, then my shoulders, then the fabric of my shirt—darkening the cotton in small, spreading circles.
Behind me, I hear the soft click of Silas's door opening. His footsteps follow mine, quieter than the rain itself, softer than the night pressing in from all sides.
