Madison Thorne
The silence in the car was almost unbearable. I could hear my own heartbeat.
The engine hummed softly beneath us as the city passed in a blur outside the tinted windows. I could still feel the stares, hear the reporters' questions echoing in my ears, their voices so loud they'd lodged themselves beneath my skin.
My arms were folded tightly around myself, not out of pride — just to hold the tremble in. I hated how fragile I felt. How exposed. I had only wanted coffee. A moment of normalcy. And the world had devoured it like vultures to a carcass.
Across from me, Alex sat still, his posture impossibly composed, like the storm hadn't touched him at all. He looked cold and distant.
He didn't say anything at first.
Then he sighed — long, slow, like I was some
