NOAH
He reached out and caught my wrist. He didn't hold my hand; he gripped my wrist with a firm, unhurried pressure that meant come. It wasn't a request.
The driver was waiting at the car, but Cassian stopped ten feet short. He said something to the man, quiet instructions, and the driver nodded, handed over the keys, and vanished into a waiting car.
"Sit next to me," Cassian said, climbing into the driver's seat.
I got in. I didn't even think to argue. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
The engine purred to life, and we pulled away from the Metropolitan Club, leaving the ghosts of the evening in the rearview mirror.
The silence in the car wasn't the heavy, suffocating kind I'd shared with my father. It was the silence of two people who had seen each other's worst parts and decided to keep driving anyway.
