The drive was quiet.
Not the comfortable kind—no, this silence was heavy, thoughtful, stitched together by things neither of them dared say out loud. The city lights slipped past the windows, smearing into gold and white streaks as Sergio drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting tensely on the console.
Iva sat curled in the passenger seat, the warm weight of the food container balanced on her lap. The smell should have made her stomach growl. It didn’t.
Her chest felt… wrong.
Sergio slowed when they reached her stop. The car came to a halt in front of the hostel, neon sign flickering, paint peeling, shadows clinging to the corners of the building like they knew better than to leave.
He stared at it.
Then at her.
Then back at the building.
“You’re living here?” he asked,
