The car hums low beneath me—a deep, steady thrum that vibrates through the seat, through my bones, through the quiet dark of the night. I sit in the driver's seat, calm, my hands resting loose on the wheel. The road stretches ahead, slick with the memory of rain, streetlights bleeding gold across the asphalt.
My phone buzzes on the passenger seat. The screen lights up the empty space beside me. Sum's name flashes across it.
Ellis, why aren't you replying? Are you coming to the club or not?
I glance at it for a moment—just a moment—then shift my gaze back to the road. The glow of the screen fades. The message waits, unanswered.
Should I go to the club?
The thought comes easily. Familiar. The club is safe. The club is noise and darkness and drinks that burn going down. The club asks nothing of me.
But... Silas...
I stop the thought mid-way. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. The leather creaks beneath my grip.
Why the hell am I thinking so much about him?
