"True. But I'm pretty sure Phantom didn't actually strip me. He was pissed at you, not me. I just happened to be loyal to your dumb ass." Banshee's tone is light, but there's something underneath. Pride. Purpose.
Grace squeezes my hand. "I'm glad you were. Loyal, I mean. Shadow needed someone."
"Yeah, well." Banshee clears his throat. "Someone's gotta keep him alive. Lord knows he's not doing it himself."
We drive on.
Around the two-hour mark, Banshee's phone buzzes.
Once, twice, then three times back to back.
He glances at it, and I watch his jaw tighten.
He puts the phone face down on the center console without answering.
"You gonna get that?" I ask.
"Nope."
The phone buzzes again.
A longer vibration—someone calling.
Banshee ignores it.
Grace is watching him, curious but not pushing.
The phone buzzes twice more in the next ten minutes.
Text messages, probably.
Finally, Banshee picks it up, glances at the screen, and powers it off completely.
"There. Problem solved."
I catch his eye in the rearview mirror.
There's something there—pain, maybe.
Not my business unless he makes it my business.
"Everything okay?" Grace asks gently.
"Fine. Just someone I don't want to talk to right now."
"Family?" she presses, and I squeeze her hand in warning.
Banshee's quiet for a long moment. "Something like that."
Grace seems to sense she's hit a boundary. "Sorry. Didn't mean to pry."
"You're not. It's just..." Banshee trails off, then shrugs. "Ancient history. Not worth discussing."
But I see the way his left hand tightens on the wheel.
See the gold band on his ring finger catching the sunlight streaming through the windshield.
He still wears it.
