FAYE
The drive home was quiet in a way that felt deliberate, like the silence had weight and intention. I stared out the window, watching familiar streets blur past, feeling disconnected from all of it.
Alexander didn’t push. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t try to fill the space with reassurance or apologies or explanations. For once, he seemed to understand that words would only make it worse—that silence was the only thing I could tolerate.
My hands rested in my lap, fingers loosely intertwined, though I hadn’t realized I’d done it. They felt empty. Everything felt empty.
When we pulled into the pack grounds, the lights were on. People were still awake. Of course they were. News traveled fast here. I could already feel the attention before I saw it—the glances, the careful express
