The rain tapped harder against the windows, a steady rhythm that almost felt too deliberate. I sank into the couch beside Quinley, the warmth of the blanket around her clashing with the chill crawling up my spine.
She fidgeted, glancing toward the door like she was thinking of bolting—but then her hand slipped into her pocket. She pulled out her phone, hesitated, then whispered, “I should call my dad.”
The word “dad” caught my attention, softer than I expected from her.
I nodded, keeping my tone soft. “That’s a good idea.”
She nodded, almost shy, and stood, stepping just far enough into the hall to murmur into her phone. Her voice was low, almost childlike. “Hey… um… yeah, I’m at my friend’s. Storm’s getting bad, and I don’t want to drive home in it… No, I’m fine. I promise. I’ll be ho
