THE MILES ACCUMULATED in tense quiet.
Cypress trees gave way to steeper terrain, the Tuscan countryside growing more remote with each turn. The afternoon light had begun its slow descent toward evening, casting long shadows across hills that seemed to watch their progress with ancient indifference.
Mailah snuck glances at Lucson periodically, trying to gauge whether he was still angry. His profile remained perfectly composed, hands steady on the wheel, no visible tension in his shoulders. As if their confrontation had been nothing more than a minor disagreement about lunch plans.
Which, she supposed, from his perspective it probably was.
The car began to slow.
Mailah sat up straighter, scanning the area. They'd left the main road several miles back, following increasingly narrow paths that looked more like suggestions than actual routes.
