Amy’s POV
The ride back home feels longer than usual. My palms are clammy, clutching my purse as if it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. I keep my jaw tight, eyes fixed on the window, watching the city lights blur past like streaks of guilt and confusion.
Behind me, Cassandra is whimpering softly — dramatic, wounded, and painfully fake. Every sniffle feels like nails on glass. I can practically feel her pretending. But I can’t say a word, not when Kael’s right here. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m the villain.
“Can you make a stop at the coffee shop?” Cassandra says suddenly, her voice weak but commanding.
Before I can object, Kael answers, “Sure. I could use a cup of coffee too.”
My gaze flicks to the rearview mirror. His eyes meet mine — steady, unreadable, and yet
