The drive feels shorter than it should. Phantom’s hand rests near mine on the gearshift, steady, unyielding, as if promising it will be okay. My mother’s voice still echoes in my ear, agitated and disappointed, but his presence beside me tempers the dread. The stuffed coyote sits in the backseat, silent witness to the collision course we’re on.
The house looms as we pull into the driveway. Porch light blazing, curtains drawn tight, the air heavy with expectation. Phantom kills the engine, leans back, and studies the front door like it’s a battlefield. His grin flickers, restrained but confident.
"Ready?" he asks, voice low, magnetic, carrying that dangerous calm that makes my pulse thrum.
I swallow, nerves tangling with the remnants of heat still clinging to my skin. "She might no
