The drive home felt like threading a needle in the dark.
Every headlight that flared in the rearview mirror made Alex's knuckles bleach white on the steering wheel. Ethan sat shotgun, knees pulled up, staring straight ahead like he could will the night back to normal if he just didn't blink. The city lights smeared across the tinted windows—red, gold, purple—turning their faces into shifting watercolor ghosts.
Inside the hilltop house, the security system chirped once as the door sealed behind them.
Lights came up soft and warm, automatic, the way Alex had programmed them months ago when he first started dreaming about a life that wasn't lived half in shadows. The living room smelled like cedar and the vanilla candle Ethan always lit when he wanted the space to feel like home instead of a fortress.
Ethan dropped his keys on the console table. They clattered louder than they should have.
