It’s too silent inside the car. And it's not the kind of silence that's comfortable. It's awkward as hell. And the fact that, from the corner of my eye, I can see Mace stealing glances at me isn't helping. It’s like he wants to say something to me but doesn’t know how to bring it up. I know what he's thinking, what he wants to say. Going back home is dangerous, I know that much. But he has to understand. He has to understand that I can't stay with him any longer, not when I know that my brother is at home, worried sick. I miss my bed, my brother, and the sense of safety that comes with being in my own space.
I miss home.
Mace keeps tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he drives in a impatient way, as if any minute now he'll just blurt out what he wants to say. Even though I
