Draven.
When we arrived at the estate gates, the silence inside the car was louder than any roar.
Meredith didn't look at me as she unfastened her seatbelt, the soft click strangely loud in the quiet.
She pushed the car door open, stepped out, and shut it behind her without a word as soon as I pulled over in the driveway.
I watched her slender frame disappear into the dimly lit front steps, her gait stiff with anger.
I didn't blame her.
She was right to be furious. To someone like Meredith—still young, still able to see the world in lines of black and white—what I did tonight must have looked monstrous.
But in truth, it wasn't cruelty that kept my hands still on the wheel.
I stayed in the car, the hum of the engine now gone, and let the weight of what I'd just seen settle fully over me.
The image of that pregnant woman being dragged into the van, her mouth covered so no sound could escape—it replayed over and over, sharper each time.
And yet, I had done nothing.
