Maryelle’s POV
Night swallows the horizon in hues of indigo, making everything look more magical than it feels at the moment. Headlights carve a narrow path through the dark as I drive, the hum of the engine steady against Phantom’s restless twitching. His anxiety radiates like static in the confined space, every shift of his shoulders a reminder of the storm brewing inside him. I don’t blame him—if someone had my mother, I’d be unraveling too.
“Can you drive a little faster?” His voice cracks mid‑sentence, strained, brittle, like he’s holding himself together with frayed thread.
I keep my tone calm, steady, the way you speak to someone teetering on the edge. “We’ll find her, Phan. I know you’re worried, but we will get to her.”
He exhales sharply, fogging the window as his gaze
