The inside of Caleb’s truck was a sanctuary of familiar scents and low vibration. Selene let her head fall back against the seat, the world outside the window blurring into a stream of green and suburban white. The confession, the weight of her father’s pain, the solid reality of his return—it all pressed against the inside of her skull.
Caleb drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console, his fingers inches from her thigh. He didn’t push for conversation, his silence a comfortable, understanding thing. But the connection between them hummed, a live wire strung taut in the small space.
“He thinks his absence protected us,” she finally said, her voice quiet against the rumble of the engine.
“He was wrong,” Caleb stated, his tone matter-of-fact, not cruel. “But his in
