The SUV’s engine hummed beneath us, a steady rumble that normally would’ve lulled me into a comfortable half-nap after hours of shopping, laughing, and chasing Ember away from every “sparkly danger item” she insisted she needed. But today the air in the car was wrong. Too still. Too thick. Something coiled under my skin, prickling along my spine like static trying to speak.
I sat in the back seat beside Aurora, our bags piled at our feet. Ember was up front, legs tucked underneath her, leaning forward to mess with the radio like the buttons personally offended her. Ryan was driving—because he’d insisted, loudly, that the girls needed a chauffeur for the day “for safety,” even though he was the baby of our group by four years.
But honestly? I was glad he offered. My nerves were too restle
