The city blurred past outside the window, neon and streetlights stretching into streaks of color. The steady hum of the car filled the silence between them. Ava sat with her hands clasped in her lap, watching the rhythm of passing lights, until Ethan finally spoke.
"You really don't look like someone who should hang around Mia," he said without glancing away from the road.
Ava arched a brow. "Excuse me?"
"You know what I mean," he replied, voice even, but with an edge. "People like her. Like my family. Mia might have dragged you into it tonight, but you're not built for this kind of life."
Ava's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "You think you've got me all figured out already?,remind me how many times have we met"
Ethan flicked a quick look at her, his eyes sharp in the dim light. "I've seen fear before. It's written all over some people the moment they step too close. And you—" He cut himself short, shaking his head. "You looked like you were about to run when you saw me outside the dorm."
She leaned back against the seat, her voice calm but steady. "I didn't run, though. And you're wrong—I'm not scared."
He chuckled under his breath, low and disbelieving. "Not scared, huh? Then explain that death grip on your bag when you walked up to the car."
Her chin lifted slightly. "Caution isn't fear. There's a difference. I grew up around people like you, Ethan. Men who think they carry the whole world in their silence. Who think their shadows keep everyone else from breathing."
That made him glance at her fully this time, his eyes searching hers. "People like me, huh? Sounds like you've got some history."
"I've seen enough to know I'm not fragile," she said, her voice firmer now. "So don't mistake me for someone who's going to shatter just because I'm sitting in your car."
For a moment, the only sound was the road beneath the tires. Then Ethan's mouth curved—just barely—into the hint of a smirk.
"Noted," he said quietly. "You've got more fire than I expected."
"Good," Ava replied, turning back toward the window.
The rest of the drive stretched out in a silence that wasn't heavy anymore. It was charged—like a fuse lit but waiting.