Darien sat in the driver's seat, but he was no longer a man operating a machine, he was a predator trapped in a cage of carbon fiber and leather. His grip on the steering wheel was so strong that the reinforced material began to fracture beneath his palms, a sound like dry bone snapping in a silent room.
His silver eyes were no longer human. The pupils had blown wide, swallowing the irises until his gaze was two obsidian voids that reflected the frantic sweep of his windshield wipers. He looked at every alleyway, every silver-colored vehicle, and every shadow that blurred past him in the grey drizzle of this district.
"Think, Darien... think," he hissed through clenched teeth. The words were distorted, vibrating with a low-frequency growl that rattled the dashboard.
He had lost them. For the first time in a century, he felt the cold, genuine panic. It was a sensation he had forgotten for a long time. It wasn't just that Amara had left, it was that she was with him.
