The rain falls in sheets beyond the glass, a steady, relentless whisper that fills the space between heartbeats. The car cuts through the night, headlights carving pale tunnels through the dark, and my hands are locked on the steering wheel—too tight, knuckles white beneath the leather.
The city blurs past, smeared into streaks of gold and red, but I don't see it. I don't see anything except the road ahead and the question Sum planted in my skull like a splinter I can't dig out.
Ellis... do you think Silas might be doing drugs?
Drugs?
Him?
Nonsense.
The word scrapes against the inside of my chest like something foreign, something that doesn't belong.
I know him—or at least, I've started to.
The way he moves through a room like he's afraid of taking up too much space. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, soft and unguarded.
The way he waits. Always waits. For me to come home. For me to notice him. For me to choose him.
