IRIS
I stare at his profile, jaw clenched. My mind reels. “Kill me?” I whisper, barely sure I heard. “Why?”
Darian doesn’t speak immediately. Horns honk behind us. The engine hums. I watch his face in the mirror, troubled, regretful, resolute.
I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, arms wrapped around myself as if I can protect my own heart. “You’re not serious.”
“You have to take this seriously,” he says finally, voice low but firm.
“I am taking it seriously, Darian,” I bite back. “But you’re not telling me why. None of this makes sense.”
He sighs and rubs his forehead like he’s trying to smooth out a headache that’s been there for years. “It’s not easy to explain.”
“Try,” I whisper.
The silence that follows is thick. The road outside is a blur of trees and ligh
