The sound of the car door closing was far too loud. It was a heavy, dampened thud that didn't just shut out the humid, city-grime air of her neighborhood; it seemed to sever Amara's connection to the earth itself.
Amara sat as far to the left as the bench seat allowed, her fingers knotting together in the lap of her navy silk gown. She was hyper-aware of the space between them.
To her right, Darien sat like a statue carved from obsidian. He didn't move an inch. His silhouette was a sharp, jagged edge against the blurring neon of the city lights streaking past the tinted windows. The man was like a wall.
God, the silence. It was suffocating. It felt like it was physically pressing against her eardrums, thick and heavy.
