ELORA

The car hummed quietly as it idled at the curb, the tinted windows shielding us from the glaring midday sun. I sat in the backseat beside Rowen, my nerves tangled like wires.

My hands were clenched on my lap, but he held my phone, swiping through the messages Ethan had sent. The screen glowed in his hand, each read message painting a new wave of guilt across my chest.

He didn’t speak at first. Just scrolled, thumb gliding slow, deliberate. Like he was decoding something. He stopped now and then, squinting. The longer he stared at those texts, the heavier the tension grew between us.

"He's persistent," Rowen finally...