Elena’s Point Of View
The drive back felt like a fever dream I couldn’t wake from. Rain still streaked across the windshield in silver rivers, the world beyond a smear of dark greens and blacks, the wipers keeping time like a ticking clock.
Jaxx had one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console, close enough that the heat of his skin seemed to seep into me. I hated how aware I was of it. Every shift of his fingers, every subtle flex of muscle under his jacket, made my chest tighten in ways I refused to admit out loud.
We didn’t speak for most of the ride. Not because there was nothing to say. But because there was too much.
The rain eased into a mist by the time we turned into familiar territory… the gates of the Sinclair Estate looming ahead like some ancient fortress
