The night in Des Moines was quiet.
The black Mustang stopped in front of a white two-story house. The V8 engine's final rumble echoed through the street for several seconds before fading. Lucian shut off the engine. He could smell the scorched tires, and heat rose from beneath the car, radiating from the rubber after the long drive.
Over a thousand kilometers. The nearly fifty-year-old machine hadn't let them down.
In the passenger seat, Annie stared at the white front door without moving.
Her state had changed throughout the drive. During the first half, she had still been laughing, singing along loudly with the radio across most of Pennsylvania. After they entered Ohio, she grew quiet, curled up in her seat with her eyes closed, but her breathing was uneven. She wasn't asleep. Past Indiana, she began constantly shifting in her seat, her fingers rubbing the seat belt buckle over and over.
Now that the car had stopped, she had gone still instead.
Lucian didn't rush her. He had chosen to drive precisely to give Annie time to sort out her feelings. Along the way, he had watched her anger simmer into resolve, then her resolve into her present stiffness.
What had to come would come.
He reached over and took Annie's fingers in his hand.
Annie's fingers moved, then closed around his hand. Her grip was stronger than usual, almost a clench. After a few seconds, she turned to look at Lucian. The streetlight shone at an angle through the window, outlining half her face.
"Do you need me to go in with you?"
Annie didn't answer immediately. She unbuckled her seat belt and leaned all the way over, wrapping her arms around Lucian's neck and pressing her face against his shoulder.
She held him tightly. As though giving