The van rumbled down the road, its tires humming steadily, but the air inside felt thick with tension. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion, worry, and uncertainty.
Byron sat slouched in the deepest seat, his face pressed against the window as he slept soundly, oblivious to the unease that hung in the air. He hadn't said much since his emotional outburst the night before, and the others were letting him rest. He was the only one who seemed to have a semblance of peace, even if it was only temporary.
In the front, Sasha gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, her posture stiff, like she was bracing herself for something she couldn't quite place. Her gaze flicked to the rearview mirror now and then, checking on the others, but her usual cool composure felt a little frayed today. She wasn't as calm as she usually appeared.
The rest of the van, however, was a different story. Yasmin, ever the peacemaker, sat next to Burdine, offering her a quiet, reassuring smile. She wasn't saying much, but her presence was calming, a silent offer of support that Burdine found herself grateful for.
Cloe was sitting next to Yasmin, her fingers nervously tracing the seam of her jacket. Her eyes darted around the van, her usual anxiety clouding her every move. She kept her thoughts to herself, but it was clear she was having a hard time with the silence. Occasionally, she would glance over at Burdine, looking like she wanted to say something but unsure of how to approach it.
Then there was Cameron, leaning back in his seat, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed out the window. He wasn't talking, but it was clear from his tight posture that he was just as tense as everyone else. His eyes flicked over to Burdine, though, every so often, his expression softening slightly when their gazes met. He wasn't the talkative type, but there was something in his demeanor that told Burdine he wasn't completely detached from what was happening.
Dylan, sitting a little too comfortably in his seat with his head tilted back, was lost in his own world. He didn't seem to notice the tension in the van. If he did, he wasn't saying anything about it. He was always a little out of touch with the more serious moments, and right now, that was no different.
Burdine, still shaken from the events of the night before, sat with her arms crossed, her mind racing as she stared out the window. The quiet hum of the van wasn't helping her calm down—it only seemed to amplify the gnawing thoughts in her head. What was going on with Byron? What was she supposed to do now?
Yasmin must have sensed her unease. She gave her a gentle look. "You okay?"
Burdine glanced over, her eyes tired and distant. "I'm fine."
But Yasmin didn't buy it. She knew Burdine too well, and she could see the flicker of discomfort behind her words.
"You don't have to be," Yasmin said quietly. "None of us do. But you're not alone in this, okay?"
Burdine turned her head sharply, surprised at the sincerity in Yasmin's voice. She wasn't used to this kind of kindness without an agenda. For once, there was no edge to Yasmin's tone, no sarcasm. It was just pure, quiet support.
Cloe shifted nervously in her seat. "Y-yeah, we're all in this together," she added, though her voice wavered with uncertainty. "I mean... we'll figure it out. We just need to... stick together."
Burdine didn't know how to respond. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to being included in something so... genuine. She rubbed her temples, feeling a headache starting to form. It was all too much.
"Thanks," she muttered, though she still wasn't sure she believed it.
Cameron, still staring out the window, finally spoke up, though his words were blunt, typical of him. "We'll get through it. It's just a matter of time." His voice was low, but it carried a sense of determination, even if he didn't show it on the outside.
Dylan, who had been completely unaware of the emotional undercurrent, piped up suddenly, his voice cheerful as ever. "Hey, anyone else want some chips? I can grab a pack from the back!"
The others barely acknowledged him, but his offer managed to break the tension slightly. Even if it wasn't exactly what anyone needed right now, it was something to ground them in the here and now.
Burdine let out a small sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. She wasn't sure where to go from here. She felt like a leaf caught in the wind—tossed around without any real control. The group was moving forward, but she still didn't know where they were headed.
For a moment, no one spoke. The hum of the tires was the only sound filling the space. Byron slept soundly through it all, unaware of the conversation swirling around him.
Sasha's grip on the wheel tightened as she glanced at the rearview mirror once again, her eyes flicking to Burdine before returning to the road. "We'll figure something out," she muttered more to herself than to anyone else.
Burdine caught her gaze in the mirror, and for a split second, their eyes met. There was something in Sasha's expression—something unreadable. It wasn't anger, but it wasn't exactly reassurance, either.
"Yeah," Burdine said softly. "I hope so."
The van continued down the road, and the group remained quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts, wondering what the future would bring.
The minutes passed in silence, the hum of the van and the soft rustle of the wheels on the pavement the only sounds. The road stretched ahead, winding through quiet streets as the city began to fade into suburban neighborhoods. It was a long drive, but no one seemed eager to break the silence just yet. The weight of the conversation—or lack thereof—hung heavy in the air, like a curtain no one dared to lift.
Burdine found herself staring out the window again, watching the familiar scenery blur past. The world felt out of focus, like everything was moving too fast, and she was standing still. A part of her was still stuck back in the tension of the night before, still replaying everything in her mind. Byron's outburst, the heavy words he had spoken, and the questions that followed.
Was she really ready to face whatever came next?
As if sensing her growing unease, Yasmin turned her head slightly and offered a soft, reassuring smile. "We're almost there. Just a few more minutes."
Burdine barely nodded, too tired to respond, her mind too tangled to process the simple reassurance.
The van veered off the main road, heading down a smaller street lined with cozy, well-kept homes. It felt like a different world here—quieter, calmer. They passed rows of neatly trimmed lawns and brightly colored flowerbeds, each house standing proudly with its own character.
After a few more turns, the van came to a stop in front of a two-story house, its brick façade warm and welcoming. A large oak tree shaded the front yard, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. The house had the kind of charm that felt like it had been built to withstand generations, sturdy and lived-in.
"Home sweet home," Yasmin said softly, a bittersweet note in her voice.
Cloe let out a nervous breath as she glanced at the house. "It's... nice."
"I told you," Yasmin replied with a small grin, clearly proud. "My mom's been here forever. She'll be happy to see you guys."
Burdine sat up straighter, her gaze lingering on the house. She hadn't known what to expect, but this place—this was home. Yasmin's home. The thought of stepping into it made her feel like a guest in a world she didn't quite belong to. But she couldn't back out now.
As they pulled into the driveway, Burdine noticed the old familiar feeling. Yasmin, Cloe, Jade, and Sasha had all been here before. It wasn't their first time, and they knew what to expect, while Burdine—well, she was still adjusting to everything.
Cameron was the first to step out of the van, stretching his arms as he grinned. "This place doesn't look so bad."
Sasha followed next, glancing at the house with an approving nod, though she still seemed tense, the weight of the conversation from the night before lingering in her posture.
Jade was already pulling her hair into a quick ponytail as she climbed out, looking around curiously. She was always the one to observe the smallest details, her eyes darting between the house and her friends.
Cloe, of course, hung back a little, her fingers clutching the edge of her seatbelt, looking uneasy as always.
"Well," Yasmin said, "I think we should head inside before my mom starts wondering where we are."
As the group moved toward the front door, Burdine hung back for a moment, still uncertain. She had never been to Yasmin's house, let alone been around Darla, Yasmin's mother. But the house, with its worn charm, felt strangely inviting, and she couldn't deny that she was a little curious.
As they approached the front door, Yasmin rang the bell, and the door opened almost immediately. Darla, Yasmin's mother, stood in the doorway, her face lighting up with a warm, welcoming smile. She was the kind of person who immediately made you feel like you belonged. Tall, with warm brown eyes and an easy smile, Darla had that quality of someone who was kind yet strong, a presence that made others feel safe.
"Well, well, well," Darla said with a wide grin, stepping forward to embrace Yasmin first. "It's so good to see you again, sweetheart. How are you?"
Yasmin hugged her mother back, a genuine smile lighting her face. "I'm good, Mom. Got some friends with me today."
Darla stepped back, her gaze shifting to the others, her eyes lingering on each of them with the warmth of someone who had seen them all before. "Of course, I remember all of you." She gave a nod to Cloe, Jade, and Sasha. "Nice to see you again. And you must be Byron's friends. He's talked about you all plenty."
The mention of Byron's name made Burdine flinch slightly, though no one seemed to notice. She kept her gaze down, trying to make herself as small as possible, though she couldn't help but feel the weight of Darla's words. The truth of Byron and Darla's past relationship hung in the air, unspoken but present. They had dated for over a year, and Burdine was all too aware of the complexities that came with that.
"Mom, I hope you don't mind... we're kind of here for a reason," Yasmin said, glancing back at the group.
"Oh? What's going on?" Darla asked, her tone instantly concerned.
"We're just... trying to figure some things out," Yasmin said carefully. "But it's nothing we can't handle."
Darla gave a soft smile, though there was a hint of worry in her eyes. "Well, you're all welcome here. Come on in. I'm sure you all could use some coffee or tea."
Burdine hesitated for a moment longer before finally stepping inside, her eyes scanning the familiar yet unfamiliar space. It was a house full of love, but it was also a house full of history, and that history had a name—Byron.
As the group followed Darla into the living room, Burdine couldn't shake the feeling that the answers they were looking for weren't just outside. They were here, in this house. But whether or not she was ready to face them was still up in the air.
As the last of the group filtered into the house, Darla led them into the cozy living room, its warmth and familiarity offering a sense of calm. The room was soft and inviting, with plush furniture and family photos hanging on the walls, some with older, faded edges, while others were bright and new. It felt like a space where people gathered, laughed, and sought solace—a perfect reflection of Darla herself.
Burdine hung back for a moment, unsure of where to sit, her eyes trailing over the space. The others found their spots on the couches, chatting with Darla about life, catching up as if they hadn't just spent hours in a tense, emotionally charged van ride. But Burdine couldn't quite shake the feeling that something important—something heavy—was waiting just outside this room, lurking in the corners.
The soft sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, and before anyone could fully settle in, the front door creaked open, the chill of the outside air slipping in for just a moment.
Byron entered the house with a slight, almost reluctant pause as he stepped into the warmth of the room. His hands were shoved into his hoodie pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he was bracing himself for something he wasn't quite ready to face. His eyes darted briefly to Darla, then to the group, his gaze lingering on Burdine for a second longer than the others. The tension in the room seemed to shift when he entered—subtle, but palpable. There was an undeniable history between him and this place, and despite how much time had passed, it felt like it was still there, hanging in the air.
"You guys look comfortable," Byron said, his voice a little rougher than usual, but there was no malice in it. He didn't seem eager to draw attention to himself, and his words were more of a statement than an invitation to engage.
Darla, ever the gracious host, was the first to react. She stood up, smiling warmly, though her eyes betrayed a hint of concern. "Byron, honey, it's good to see you. Come in, sit down. We've got plenty of room."
Byron gave a tight, half-hearted smile but didn't move toward the group immediately. He stood by the door for a moment, seemingly processing everything, before he walked into the room, his steps slow and measured. The energy in the room seemed to shift again, but no one said anything—no one dared to.
He took a seat on one of the chairs near the edge of the room, far enough from the group that it didn't feel like he was encroaching on their space, but close enough that it was clear he wasn't trying to escape the situation. He was just... there.
Burdine felt her chest tighten slightly as she met his gaze for a brief second. The weight of everything unsaid between them seemed to press down harder in that moment. She knew things were complicated with Byron—knew they always had been. His past with Darla was part of it, but there was so much more—things Burdine didn't know how to face yet, and things she wasn't sure she could ever understand.
"How was the drive?" Darla asked, trying to keep the mood light, her gaze flickering between Byron and the others.
"It was fine," Byron replied shortly, his tone flat, as if the question itself felt too mundane compared to the heavy atmosphere in the room. "Not much to say."
Sasha, always more perceptive than most, exchanged a quick look with Yasmin, sensing the tension. She leaned back slightly, her voice casual but tinged with something that made it clear she was still processing everything. "We had some... interesting moments back there, but we made it. Safe and sound."
Byron gave a barely noticeable nod, his eyes dropping to the floor for a moment as if trying to hide whatever thoughts lingered there. Burdine watched him, the silence between them heavy, as the others quietly talked to Darla about catching up on old times.
Cloe, who had been sitting uncomfortably since they entered, shifted in her seat and finally spoke, her voice small but genuine. "So, uh... what's the plan now?" she asked, her words hovering in the air. "Are we staying here for a while?"
Darla smiled at her daughter's friend. "Of course. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need. If you're hungry or thirsty, I can whip something up. Just relax. You're all family here."
For a moment, everyone stayed quiet, the offer of warmth hanging in the air, until Byron finally spoke up again, his tone a little more distant, though not unkind.
"I'm... not really in the mood for food right now," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice was softer now, as if he was trying to make sense of the moment. "But I'll stay. I've been through worse than this."
The unspoken words hung between them all, leaving a sense of unresolved tension that no one could quite figure out how to break.
Darla, sensing the gravity of the situation but not wanting to push too hard, nodded and went toward the kitchen, leaving the group with their quiet thoughts.
As she walked away, Burdine glanced around at everyone else, her heart a little heavier than before. Everyone was trying to make this work, trying to adapt to whatever they needed from each other. But the undercurrent of unsaid things—Byron's lingering discomfort, the way he had avoided her gaze—made her wonder how long they could keep pretending everything was fine.
They were here, in this house, with Darla's hospitality offering them a safe haven. But for how long would that last before the walls they'd all built around their emotions came crumbling down?
Byron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the weight of the past crashing down on him the moment he stepped into Darla's house. It was the same house, the same space where he'd spent more than a year pretending things were fine. His relationship with Darla was a mess of contradictions, a toxic blend of charm and manipulation that made him feel both wanted and trapped at the same time.
As he stood in the familiar living room, Byron's eyes briefly scanned the space. The walls were adorned with photos that seemed almost too perfect to be real—pictures of him and Darla together, frozen moments from a time when he'd been convinced everything was normal. But now, it just felt like a cruel reminder of how things had really been. Of how controlled he'd been.
His gaze lingered on the faded family portrait by the door, the memory of days when he hadn't known just how deep the manipulation had run. He didn't want to be here, not with the ghosts of his past swirling in the background.
"I never thought I'd be back here," Byron muttered under his breath, his voice low.
Sasha, noticing his unease, gave him a quick, understanding glance. She didn't say anything, but her silent acknowledgment of his discomfort was enough to make him feel a little less alone.
But the truth was, the last thing he wanted was to talk about Darla. She had been part of his life for far too long, part of a toxic cycle of manipulation and control that he wasn't ready to unpack. What had happened between them—how she and Steel had worked together to control him, to make him feel like he had no escape—was something Byron hadn't been able to fully face yet, let alone share with anyone.
Sasha caught his eyes for a moment, concern etched on her face. "You alright?" she asked, her voice soft.
Byron nodded quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, just... a little bit of history, you know? Not exactly my favorite kind of history."
Sasha didn't press. She could tell there was more, but Byron wasn't ready to talk about it, and she respected that. Whatever had happened between him and Darla, Byron didn't owe anyone the details. Not yet. Not until he was ready to share it, if he ever was.
"I just... it feels weird to be back here," Byron continued, his voice barely above a whisper, but this time, it was directed at the room itself. "A lot of bad memories here."
Sasha nodded. "I get it. But this is your choice, Byron. No one's forcing you to be here."
He nodded again, feeling the weight of her words, but it didn't make the discomfort go away. Being back here felt like being suffocated again, like he was breathing in stale air, caught in a space he couldn't escape.
"Do you want to step outside for a bit?" Sasha suggested gently, sensing he needed a break.
Byron hesitated, his fingers tapping against his leg nervously. "Yeah. I think I need that."
Without waiting for a response, he stood up, walked to the door, his hand resting on the handle, ready to leave. He had already said his goodbyes, and the weight of the place was pressing down on him again. The walls, the memories—everything about this house made his skin crawl. It was a place that had once been his home, but never really felt like it. And now, after everything, it felt like a cage again.
Just as he was about to step out, Darla's voice broke the silence, smooth and controlled. "Leaving so soon?" she asked, as though she hadn't noticed the tension in the room. "I thought you might stay a bit longer. We haven't really had a chance to catch up, have we?"
Byron froze, his hand still on the door handle. He hadn't expected her to say anything, let alone this. He felt a flicker of irritation rise within him but suppressed it. The last thing he wanted was to get drawn back into her web of old arguments.
Darla continued, moving closer to him, her posture almost too casual. "It's just like you, isn't it? Always running off when things get a little tough. You used to do that all the time, remember?" She laughed softly, almost in mock amusement, like they shared some private joke.
His jaw clenched, and he forced himself not to respond. He remembered the times she'd said those exact words before—whenever he'd try to pull away or argue. It was always his fault. He was always the one who made things complicated. And that feeling, that guilt she'd managed to instill in him, crept back into his chest.
"You know," Darla continued, her voice low and almost coaxing, "when you lived here, things weren't always easy. But I always tried to make it work. I really did." She gave a small shrug, the faintest trace of something close to regret in her expression. "You just… made it harder than it had to be. I'm sure you know that, deep down."
Byron swallowed, his fingers tightening on the door handle. He wanted to shout, to call her out on all of it—the way she'd twisted everything, controlled him, made him feel small. But he didn't. Instead, he looked straight ahead, at the door, focusing on that singular, simple exit.
"I'm not staying," he muttered, his voice tight. "I need to go."
There was a long pause before Darla finally stepped back, her lips curling slightly into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Alright then. If that's how it has to be. But just remember, Byron… you're the one who always made it so hard. Don't forget that."
With a quick glance at her, Byron pushed open the door and stepped outside. He didn't look back. He couldn't. If he did, he might just be pulled back into that same trap again.
Byron stepped out into the cool evening air, the door clicking shut behind him. His shoulders sagged as he exhaled, the tension still clinging to him like smoke. He took a few steps down the driveway, running a hand through his hair, grounding himself in the sensation.
No one had noticed he was gone.
The van was parked further up the street, but he caught sight of Burdine first. She was leaning against a low brick wall, one leg crossed over the other, taking a slow drag from a cigarette. The embers glowed faintly in the dim light, a thin wisp of smoke curling around her.
Dylan must've given it to her. Byron didn't even have to ask.
Burdine barely looked up when he approached, only shifting her eyes toward him before flicking ash onto the ground. "Took you long enough," she muttered.
Byron didn't answer right away. He wasn't sure he could. His mind was still in that house, in that suffocating moment with Darla, in the years before that.
Burdine tilted her head, studying him. "Did she say something?"
Byron blinked, his expression neutral. "Who?"
She scoffed. "Don't play dumb. You look like you're about to be sick." She took another drag, exhaling through her nose. "And that's my job."
He huffed out a quiet laugh, barely there, but Burdine caught it.
They stood in silence for a while. The cigarette burned down between her fingers, the tip glowing, fading, glowing again.
Eventually, Burdine sighed. "Dylan's a bad influence," she muttered, holding up the cigarette before dropping it and grinding it under her heel.
Byron arched an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about bad influences?"
She shrugged. "Don't." Then, after a pause, she added, "But he's a moron."
Byron hummed in agreement. Another stretch of silence. This time, it was almost comfortable. Burdine glanced at Byron as the others made their way toward the van, still caught up in whatever conversation had them laughing. She could feel the weight of something unsaid hanging between them, heavy and uncomfortable.
"So," she started, flicking at the stray ashes on her sleeve. "You gonna tell me what happened in there?"
Byron didn't answer right away. Instead, he rubbed his thumb against his palm, eyes drifting toward the streetlights in the distance. "Not much to tell," he finally muttered.
Burdine narrowed her eyes. "Bullshit."
Byron exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a humorless chuckle. "Always so charming."
She ignored the jab, crossing her arms. "Look, I don't care if you wanna keep your secrets or whatever, but if this is gonna be another one of your self-destructive spirals, I'd at least like a warning before I have to drag your ass out of a mess."
His jaw tightened. "You won't have to."
"Won't I?" Burdine pressed, stepping in front of him before he could walk off. "Because something happened in there, and you're acting like it didn't."
Byron finally met her gaze, but there was nothing readable in it. "Nothing happened," he said, too even, too careful.
Burdine stared at him, lips pressing into a thin line. He was deflecting—classic Byron.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Be all mysterious and broody. But don't expect me to buy it."
He gave her a tired smirk. "Didn't expect you to."
Burdine huffed but let it drop. If he wasn't gonna talk, she wasn't gonna waste her breath dragging it out of him. Not yet, anyway.
She turned toward the van, walking ahead of him, muttering under her breath, "Damn paper's still giving me a headache."
Byron didn't respond, but as he followed her, his fingers twitched at his van was quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional distant sound from inside the house—laughter, voices overlapping, the clatter of dishes. The others hadn't noticed Byron's absence yet.
Burdine took a slow drag of her cigarette before flicking the ashes out the cracked window. She side-eyed Byron, who sat slouched in the deepest seat, arms crossed, gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
"So," she said, exhaling smoke. "That paper."
Byron barely reacted. "What about it?"
Burdine scoffed. "Don't play dumb. It had everyone confused. Including me."
A slow exhale left his nose, fingers twitching against his knee. "It's nothing."
"Yeah, that's bull," Burdine said flatly. "Because if it was nothing, you wouldn't have walked out of there looking like you saw a damn ghost."
Byron turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her before looking away again. "You wouldn't get it."
Burdine let out a dry laugh. "Try me."
Silence.
Inside the house, Sasha's voice carried faintly through the walls—something about how they should've known better than to expect answers from a damn piece of paper. Dylan's laugh followed, then Cloe's worried tone cutting in.
Byron shifted, resting his elbow on the window ledge, fingers barely brushing his temple. His voice, when it finally came, was quieter than before. "It's just old stuff."
Burdine frowned. "Old stuff like what?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
Byron's fingers curled into his sleeve, but he didn't answer.
Burdine sat in the passenger seat, legs crossed, arms tight around herself. The van was dimly lit by the occasional passing streetlamp, but Byron wasn't looking at the outside world. His gaze was locked on the crumpled paper in his hands, its creases deep from the number of times he had folded and unfolded it.
Burdine exhaled, tilting her head. "So… are you going to tell me what's actually on that damn thing?"
Byron let out a slow breath, rolling the paper between his fingers. "You already saw most of it, didn't you?"
She clicked her tongue. "Most isn't all."
He smirked, but there was no real amusement in it. "And what do you expect me to say, darling? That it's some grand conspiracy? That I'm actually an alien or a deep-cover agent?"
Burdine shot him a sharp look. "I expect you to stop dancing around the truth. What does it mean?"
Byron was quiet for a moment, his grip on the paper tightening. "It means that my life, my entire history, has been written down, dissected, and left out for someone else to read like a fucking script." He shook his head, voice lower. "And I don't even recognize half of it."
Burdine frowned. "What part?"
Byron's jaw clenched. "The part about who I'm supposed to be."
She leaned forward slightly. "You think they got something wrong?"
He let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about wrong. It's about… I don't know if I was ever right."
Burdine's brows knitted together, trying to piece together his meaning. "…So, what, you're saying your whole life was a lie?"
Byron laughed, but there was nothing lighthearted about it. "That would be easier to swallow, wouldn't it?" He turned the paper over in his hands. "No, it's worse. It's that parts of it were true. And I don't know which ones I want to be true."
She pursed her lips, shifting in her seat. "I still don't get it."
He let out a small, breathless chuckle. "No, you don't."
Burdine narrowed her eyes. "Then explain it to me."
Byron opened his mouth, then closed it. For a second, he looked almost lost. Then he sighed, rubbing his temple. "I don't know how."
Burdine watched him carefully, the way his fingers twitched, the way his breath hitched when he thought too hard. "…You don't have to tell me," she finally said. "But you should tell someone."
Byron didn't answer right away. He just looked back down at the paper, eyes tracing the words as if they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something that made sense.
Outside, the house lights glowed warmly, but neither of them moved to go inside.
Byron leaned back in the van's seat, exhaling through his nose as the sound of laughter and chatter filtered from the house. He knew they'd have to go back inside soon, blend in like nothing was off. But Burdine was still watching him, her brows slightly furrowed, waiting for something she couldn't quite grasp yet.
His fingers pressed lightly against the paper in his lap, the words swimming in his vision. "They always made it so final," he murmured. "Like it was written in ink, like I had no say."
Burdine shifted slightly. "But you do, don't you?"
Byron let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but it held no humor. "You'd think." His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, catching his own reflection for a second too long before looking away. "Spent my whole life with people deciding who I am before I even got the chance."
Burdine still looked confused, but she wasn't pushing—not yet. She glanced at the house, where the others were settling in for the night. "You sure you wanna stay here?" she asked. "With her?"
Byron hesitated. He should have said no. Should have found some excuse to leave. But that would raise more questions. "Doesn't matter," he muttered. "I've slept in worse places."
Burdine's lips pressed together. She didn't buy that answer, but she didn't challenge it. "Fine," she said. "But I'm watching you."
Byron rolled his eyes. "How very generous of you, Maxwell."
She didn't correct him, didn't snap back. Instead, she let the silence settle again, staring out the windshield. "You're not a very good liar," she finally said. "Whatever's on that paper—it's not just about the past, is it?"
Byron hesitated, then let out a slow breath. "No," he admitted. "It's not."
Burdine turned her head slightly, waiting.
He didn't say more. Not yet.
Instead, he opened the van door, stepping out into the night air. "Come on," he said over his shoulder. "Before they start wondering."
Burdine watched him for a second longer before following, the conversation left unfinished, but not forgotten.