The ride home should have been quiet. His mother, worn down by the length of the day, rested her head against the leather headrest with her eyes closed. The steady hum of the engine should have soothed him. The streetlights sliding overhead should have felt familiar.
Instead they flickered through the windshield like interrogation lamps. Each one exposing another fracture in the composure Adrian had spent eight years perfecting.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles blanched. His mother appeared to be resting, but he could feel her awareness in the subtle shifts of her breathing, in the slight turn of her head whenever tension tightened his jaw. She had always noticed what other people missed.
"Are you going to tell me what that was?" she asked softly. No accusa
