Sheila’s POV
The drive back feels slower than before. The city lights blur through the window like smeared paint, and I can see my reflection staring back wide-eyed, quiet, trying to make sense of what I just saw.
Brendan hasn’t said much since we left. His hand is on the steering wheel, fingers loose but his shoulders are stiff. The silence between us feels too full, like it’s carrying something I’m not supposed to touch.
When his phone vibrates, the screen lights up against the dashboard. A name flashes. He glances at it once, then ignores it. Not even a blink of hesitation, just that cold, controlled calm that makes my chest tighten.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Yeah,” he says. His voice is low, even, but his jaw clenches before the word is out.
T
