On the other side —
Arwen was behind the wheel, driving the car herself. She hadn't had the time to ask Alfred to get the car ready. She had only grabbed the key in a rush and bolted out of the door.
The engine roared as the car tore down the street. It wasn't late, and the city was still bustling with people and traffic. But none mattered. Whenever she saw an opening, she pressed harder on the accelerator, waving her way through.
Her chest was tight, her breathing uneven. Her eyes burned —not with tears yet, but with something heavier, something she couldn't stop or control. She didn't have it in her to slow down, to think, or to calm herself.
Red.
Yellow.
Green.
It didn't matter. She broke every signal without hesitation, ignoring the blaring horns, the flashing lights, the screech of the tires as the drivers slammed their brakes to avoid her. Her grip on the steering wheel was so tight that her knuckles had gone stark white.
