John's words floated out, slow and worn. "Let's go home. The road's taken everything from me—I just want the quiet breath of sleep."
Thea glanced over, one eyebrow lifting. "You're seriously in a lifelong relationship with sleep."
He flashed a lazy half-smile. "Look, some people go on adventures. I close my eyes and chase dreams. Same difference."
She let out a soft laugh, though she kept her gaze on him. "You could make sleep sound poetic."
"Maybe it is," he said with a shrug. "No crowds. No pressure. Just quiet."
As he walked off, Thea didn't follow. She stood still, arms crossed, watching his figure retreat to the black luxury car that seemed to purr even before starting. That same car that represented the Smith family—elegant, polished, and untouchably distant.
Ryder's words came back to her: "John's a sleep addict. It's more than tiredness. It's... escape."
She hadn't understood then. Now, the edges were starting to sharpen.
