By the time they left the town, Aria’s head hurt in a way that had nothing to do with caffeine.
The drive back was quieter than the drive in. Lena half‑slept against the window in the back seat, hood pulled up, mumbling now and then when Rowan hit a bump. He drove with his usual calm focus, eyes flicking between the road and the dark smear of forest on either side.
Aria sat in the middle of the front bench, fingers hooked in the seatbelt like it was the only solid thing in the world.
Human noise still echoed in her ears: clinking cups in the café, the beep of scanners at the door, the little boy’s delighted “Look, wolves!” at a logo hiding cages.
“You’re quiet,” Rowan said eventually, eyes on the road.
“Thinking,” she answered.
“Dangerous habit,” Lena mumbled from the back.
Aria alm
