The drive to Dashiell's penthouse was the quietest Reign had ever been.
It wasn't the comfortable kind of quiet she was starting to get used to around him. This was the kind that pressed against the inside of her chest and made it hard to breathe properly. The kind that came from having too many thoughts and not enough room for all of them, because her anger had occupied all the space.
She sat in the passenger seat of the car, arms folded, eyes fixed on the city moving past the window. While Dashiell sat beside her in the back seat, his hands resting loosely on his thighs, his expression carefully arranged into nothingness that told her absolutely nothing about what was happening behind his eyes.
She hated it.
She hated that she still couldn't read him after everything. She hated that
