Hazel Pov
The drive home was the longest seven minutes of my life.
Silas didn't say a word. Neither did I. The silence between us wasn't the comfortable kind — the kind you settle into like a warm blanket on a cold night. This was the other kind. The kind that presses against your ribs and makes it hard to breathe. The kind with teeth.
I kept my face turned toward the passenger window, watching the streetlights blur past in long, orange smears. My reflection stared back at me from the dark glass — pale, hollow-eyed, a ghost version of myself. I looked away from her.
The hospital bracelet was still on my wrist. I'd been picking at the plastic edge since we left the parking lot, working at it like a loose thread, but it wouldn't come off without scissors. Every time my eyes caught the s
