She's so close.
You're Henri right now, not Tristan. Henri doesn't know her. Henri doesn't want her. Henri is just doing his job.
But Henri is a lie, and the truth is sitting in my backseat.
I force myself to focus on anything else. The gray sky, heavy with clouds. Iceland in autumn—cold enough that your breath fogs the glass, bleak enough that the landscape feels like it's in mourning. The hills roll past in shades of moss and slate, beautiful in a way that feels indifferent.
Otis rides shotgun.
He's young—early twenties, maybe. He talks to fill the silence and misses everything that matters. Not great at his job, from what I've seen. He does the bare minimum and thinks he's clever for it.
I'm going to use that to my advantage today.
Keira's eyes are on the window, but I realize she's not looking at the hills or the sky. She's somewhere far away.
I won't pretend I understand what she's going through.
I've seen combat, been tortured close to the breaking point,escaped things that should have killed me and came out the other side with scars that'll never fade. But none of that compares to this.
This is slow death by a thousand cuts, delivered by the man who claims to be her husband. And she has to smile through it. Lie beneath him and pretend she's not dying on the inside.
The image alone makes me want to drive this SUV off the nearest cliff with Calder bound and gagged in the trunk.
I watched her push through physical pain without flinching. Then I watched her shatter when they took Hale away.
I've never felt so fucking helpless.
The shadows under her eyes are darker than yesterday. She's clearly not sleeping.
I want to know which thoughts keep her awake. I want to crawl inside her mind and pull them out one by one. Burn the ones that hurt her and replace them with everything good she should have been given from the beginning.
I will.
I just need more time.
"Beautiful day," Otis offers, gesturing at the sky pressing down on us like a migraine. "You know, for Iceland."
When neither of us responds, he shifts in his seat, drumming his fingers against his thigh.
"My girlfriend back home would love this. She's really into nature and stuff. Hiking, camping, waterfalls."
Keira doesn't blink or acknowledge him. I'm not sure she's even aware he's talking. And I don't have the energy for a conversation right now.
The silence stretches—not because we hate it, but because Otis does. He clears his throat and shifts again.
I'm considering throwing him out of this moving vehicle.
"She's always sending me pictures of places she wants to visit. Mountains and shit. I keep telling her, babe, I'm literally in Iceland right now, and she's like, yeah but you're working, it doesn't count." He laughs at his own story.
I keep my eyes on the road, focusing on the hum of tires against asphalt.
"You got a girlfriend, Henri?"
Guess I can't ignore him now. My eyes flick to Keira. She's still pretending to stare out the window, but her head tilts slightly, her gaze dropping to her lap.
"No."
"No? A guy like you?" Otis sounds genuinely surprised. "What, are you one of those married-to-the-job types?"
