The drive from the bus stop to the Houston Medical Center was a study in atmospheric pressure. Inside the silver Ferrari, the air was thick, charged with the scent of rain, expensive leather, and the raw, jagged edges of a pride that had been pushed to its limit.
Garette drove with a focused intensity, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He kept glancing at Dianthe in the periphery. She sat rigidly against the passenger door, staring out at the blurred lights of the city. She looked small, shivering slightly in her damp clothes, yet there was a newfound iron in her posture that made him feel like he was the one being scrutinized under a microscope.
"Stop looking at me like I’m a witness you’re trying to intimidate," Dianthe said, her voice cutting through the hum of the engine.
"I
