In less than thirty minutes, Killian walked into the bar. He didn’t scan the room, didn’t waste time with pleasantries—he spotted me instantly. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between annoyed and concerned, and it made me straighten in my seat without thinking.
He didn’t say a word to me. No hi, no are you okay, nothing. Just a short, firm, “Get in the car.”
And for reasons I didn’t feel like examining right then, I did. No argument, no smart remark—I just slid off the stool, grabbed my bag, and followed him out into the cool night air.
The silence between us was loud. The kind that presses on your ears and makes you suddenly aware of every little sound—the crunch of my shoes on gravel, the faint hum of traffic down the street, the sharp click as he unlocked the car.
I slipped
