The ride back was quiet.
The driver didn't ask questions, and Luca didn't offer any.
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the blur of city lights and early autumn leaves.
The farther they drove, the more the noise of the dormitory faded into silence.
When the car finally pulled into the gated driveway, Luca looked up.
The house stood at the far end—modern, sleek, and a little too cold-looking. White stone walls.
Tall glass windows. Everything precise, untouched.
The pool rested silently at one side, its still surface mirroring the grey sky like it hadn't been disturbed in days.
He stepped out, the soft crunch of gravel beneath his shoes the only sound greeting him.
Inside, the main room smelled faintly of cedar and something roasted—maybe breakfast, maybe just warmth.
He didn't expect anyone to be there.
But his dad was.
