Riley:
The steering wheel felt slick under my palms. I hadn’t realized how hard I was gripping it until the leather squeaked beneath my skin. My knuckles were pale, fingers locked like I was holding onto the last solid thing in my life. Morning light blurred against the windshield, too bright and too sharp, painting streaks across the glass that my wipers failed to wipe clean.
It was supposed to be a normal drive. I’d made this trip a thousand times before—same turns, same street signs, same cracks in the pavement that jolted the car. But today everything felt wrong. The road bent in unfamiliar ways. The stoplights lingered too long. My chest refused to find a rhythm, heart thundering against my ribs like it wanted out.
I cracked the window, hoping the rush of air would do what my lungs
