The streetlights passed by in a blur, streaks of orange glowing across the windshield as the silence stretched uncomfortably thick between them.
Lana was holding her breath.
Her eyes had darted to the dashboard clock twice already. Five minutes. That was how long Liam had been driving—no destination, no words, no explanation. Just quiet breathing and an intense grip on the steering wheel. She noticed the way his eyes flicked to the side mirror again and again. The way his jaw was set a little too tight. The way his right foot tapped on the gas every few seconds, almost like he was trying to shake someone off.
This wasn't the road back to the hotel.
This wasn't even a familiar road.
She finally spoke.
"Liam… what's going on? Where are we going?"
He didn't answer at first. He just continued driving, eyes on the mirror, posture tense.
"Liam," she repeated, firmer this time.
Still no answer.
A few more seconds passed, then he finally spoke, his voice calm but sharp.
