Riley cuts right at the next corner, away from the brighter avenue and toward a side street that leads to her building.
The lamps here are older, dimmer, the light pooling in uneven circles on cracked pavement.
She tells herself she’s not running.
Her stride just… lengthens.
Her phone is still in her hand. Nolan’s name hovers under her thumb.
She debates calling.
He’ll say she should have let him put her in a car. He’ll get that tight look in his eyes. He’ll worry.
And yet—
A scuff of shoe leather on asphalt behind her, faster now.
Decision made.
She hits call.
A car passes at the wrong moment, headlights flaring, engine roar drowning the first ring.
The line clicks.
“Riley?” Nolan’s voice, alert. “You’re not home.”
“On my way,” she says, trying for breezy and landing closer
