Jimmie’s POV
The ride back home with Eleanor was beyond awkward.
It was suffocating, like being trapped in a velvet coffin. The air between us was thick, silent, weighted, stretched taut over the tension neither of us dared to acknowledge. She sat by the window, her eyes distant, her posture regal yet withdrawn. I sat beside her, hands clasped tightly in my lap, pretending the silence was comfortable when it was anything but.
I had complimented her speech earlier, telling her it was beautifully delivered and heartfelt. And it was— even though I was occupied with my thoughts and that shewolf, Nadia, during most of her speech. She’d stood on that stage in front of thousands and held them captive with her words. A symbol of strength, grace, and purpose. But she hadn’t responded. Not even a
