Knox
The bike is parked two blocks from the courthouse, tucked between a delivery van and a sedan that's seen better days.
Sam doesn't say anything as we walk. Just keeps pace beside me, her hands in her jacket pockets, her eyes on the sidewalk.
I don't push. Don't ask if she's okay or try to fill the silence with words that won't help.
She asked for a ride. That's all I need to know.
When we reach the bike, I hand her the spare helmet—the one I keep strapped to the back for emergencies. She takes it without looking at me, turning it over in her hands like she's trying to remember how it works.
"You good?" I ask quietly.
She nods. "Yeah. I just... I need to get out of here."
"I know."
I swing my leg over the bike and settle into the seat, then glance back at her. She's still stand
