Serenity
There is only the low, mechanical thrum of the engine and the steady, hypnotic rhythm of Darian’s fingers tapping against the leather-wrapped steering wheel. I lean my head against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the world blur by.
The gala, the swelling crescendo of the music, the sea of masked faces, and the suffocating pressure of being watched—it all feels miles away now, a fever dream left behind in the rearview mirror. Darian hasn’t said a word since we pulled away from the curb. He has always been like this; he never pushes for the words I physically cannot give, and tonight, that silence feels like a sanctuary. It is a soft place to land after the jagged edges of the evening.
Suddenly, a flicker of frantic movement in the rearview mirror pulls me from m
