Clyde drove steadily, the hum of the engine filling the awkward silence between them. The city lights passed across the windshield, painting patterns across Micah's face. He sat slouched in the passenger seat, eyes glazed. Clyde kept stealing glances, the crease between his brows deepening. He had seen the brutality of society, yet when it came to Micah, every twitch of his lips, every stiff breath, felt something fragile cracking inside him.
They arrived quicker than Micah realised. Clyde pulled into the underground parking garage. The car came to a smooth halt. Clyde cut the engine and exhaled, resting one hand on the steering wheel before pushing the door open.
He got out first, waiting for Micah. But the boy didn't move. Clyde circled the car and pulled down the handle of the passenger door. Micah sat frozen, shoulders slightly hunched, his gaze unfocused as though he were caught in some dream.
