Adrasteia sat rigid in the passenger seat, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them, thick enough to make her nerves prickle. The hum of the engine filled the space, steady and constant, yet it did little to calm the restless churn in her chest. Her gaze stayed fixed on the passing landscape, watching the blur of trees and stone walls streak by as if they could ground her.
Out of sheer habit, her fingers drifted to the side of her nail, worrying at the skin, peeling at it absentmindedly. She didn't even realize she was doing it until a voice cut cleanly through the quiet.
"You still haven't gotten rid of it."
Zavier's words were calm, almost observant, blending seamlessly with the sound of the engine. There was no mockery in his tone, no teasing edge, just a blunt statement of fact.
"Thought you would've outgrown it," he continued, eyes still on the road, "after all those years of practicing princessly grace."
That made her pause.
