The mountain road began to twist in sharp, winding serpentines, the tires of the car crunching over loose gravel as they ascended into the thinning air of the Northwood range. Inside the vehicle, the atmosphere was a suffocating blend of Malcolm's brooding silence and the heavy, expensive scent of his wool coat draped over Luca's small frame.
Marcus, however, was unable to let the silence settle. His mind was racing, fueled by a mixture of genuine curiosity and a sudden, sharp spike of competitive instinct. He kept stealing glances at Luca through the rearview mirror, seeing the way the boy was swamped in Malcolm's garment, looking like a delicate prize hidden in a rough shell.
