70. Athena
The journey back was steeped in silence.
A silence so heavy that it felt suffocating. Lorenzo sat rigid behind the wheel, his features a carved mask of indifference, though his knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
His focus was laser-sharp on the road ahead, while Diego, perched in the backseat, drummed his fingers against the window in a rhythmic, almost taunting manner. His expression spoke of mischief, as if he were plotting his next move.
Lorenzo, on his hand, looked like he was doing anything so as not to succumb to Diego's silent taunt.
I sat on the passenger seat, my gaze darting between the two men subtly. The air crackled with unspoken words, but neither seemed willing to break the silence. My teeth pressed into my bottom lip as curiosity gnawed at me.
