Almost thirty minutes and I still haven't said anything.
I don't plan to either.
Gabby's in the passenger seat, scrolling her phone. One leg tucked under her, braids catching the light every time she moves. Clarke's driving — blonde hair pulled back, hazel eyes on the road. I can feel her checking the rearview mirror every few seconds. I'm just not in the mood.
"Benny."
I scroll through my phone.
"Benny."
"Mm."
"That's not a word."
I don't answer. Gabby twists around from the passenger seat, braids swinging, looking at me with that careful face she makes when she doesn't want to say the wrong thing.
"Come on, baby. Talk to us. Oh wait—" she points at the paper bag beside me. "Check the bag. I got you those spicy chips you're basically married to. And drinks."
I look at the bag. Don't touch it. Keep scrolling.
"It went well," she says, more to herself. "It went well, right? Clarke, it went well."
Clarke just exhales through her nose.
Gabby tries again, already digging in her purse. "Okay I have cigarettes — do you want to smoke? I can just—"
I start crying.
Not like I planned to. That ugly kind, the kind that makes noise, and once it starts I can't do anything about it.
"You should have seen their faces." My voice comes out wrecked. "They sat there and told me no like I was nobody, like I hadn't been practicing every single day, like—" I wipe my face and it doesn't help. "What did they even say?" Clarke asks quietly.
"Doesn't matter what they said. They rejected me. I was so close." The words keep spilling. "I practiced so much. Paper Heat — the sequel to Paper Heat — it's huge. I made it to the final callback. I was this close. And everything just—"
I laugh a little and it sounds wrong. "Was it the white dress? Was it my hair? Oh God, was I too tall—"
"Why would that even—"
"I don't know! I'm trying to figure out what I did wrong!"
Gabby chimes in, helpful as ever. "I would've flirted with the casting director."
"Oh my God, Gabby." Clarke shoots her a look.
"What? It's not new in the industry."
My head snaps up. "You want me to flirt with him? Sleep with him?" My face twists. "I don't want to sleep with that old, balding—"
I stop.
My stepfather's face slides in before I can block it. The way he'd look at me after. The way he smiled like we shared a secret I never agreed to keep.
No. No no no no.
"Hey." Clarke's voice shifts. "Benny. You with us?"
My breathing's wrong. Too fast. Too shallow. My hands won't stop shaking — and underneath the shaking something else stirs, something older and more animal than grief, pressing up from under my ribs like it wants out. My wolf, awake now, responding to the panic the way it always does. I shove it down hard.
Not here. Not with them.
"Clarke." Gabby's voice goes small.
"I see it." Clarke's already reaching for the glove compartment. "Benny, there's meds in the side pocket. Can you reach them?"
I don't move.
"Benny. Please."
I reach out. Find the bottle. My hands shake so bad I almost drop it. I swallow dry. Lean my head back and breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Pushing the wolf down with every exhale until the pressure behind my sternum finally goes quiet.
They think it's anxiety. I let them think that.
The car goes quiet.
"I don't want to go home." My voice is small now. "They're gonna laugh at me. My parents. They're gonna say I told you so. I'm so stupid."
"You're not stupid." Clarke's firm. "Stop saying that."
Gabby holds up the cigarettes. "I still have the smokes."
I stare at her. Then I laugh — wet and broken but it's something. "Pass me two sticks."
I light up. Long drag. Let the smoke curl out the cracked window and close my eyes.
Gabby's phone buzzes. She checks it. Her face changes.
She looks at Clarke.
Clarke feels it. "What?"
"Don't be mad."
"I'm already mad. What?"
"It's Todd again. There's a pool party. The people who deal — you know, the ones — they're hosting. They want us to come by. Pick up the goods as well."
Clarke groans. "Not right now. Benny's not—"
I reach for the phone. Read over Gabby's shoulder.
Mountain Views Estate. Private. Invite only.
I almost hand it back. Then I see the address properly — and something in my chest goes very still.
I know that estate. Not from any party. From a briefing Alexandra gave six months ago, her finger on a printed map, her voice flat and certain. Neutral ground. Nobody touches it. It sits between three pack territories and none of them claim it because all of them use it.
"I don't know—" I start.
The world jerks.
Metal screams against metal. My body slams forward then back. The phone flies. Gabby yelps. Clarke's arms lock on the wheel.
Noise, motion, the smell of burning rubber.
Then silence.
I blink. My head throbs. We're alive.
Through the windshield — another dark jeep. Stopped at an angle that says it hit us.
I breathe in once, automatically, the way I always do when something's wrong.
And I catch it.
Faint through the cracked window, underneath the rubber and the smoke — a scent. Alpha. Dominant. Close.
My wolf goes completely still inside me, the way prey goes still. Or the way something equally dangerous does.
I say nothing. I reach up and touch my nose. My fingers come back red.