“Well, hey,” Henry said, already looking between us with suspicion. “Didn’t know you were tagging along.”
Ethan patted his shoulder easily. “Of course. How are you doing?”
Henry shrugged. “Better. Actually managed to sleep last night.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “How about you two? Get any shut-eye?”
I looked at him evenly. “Not much, no.” I had no intention of elaborating.
From the back seat, Ethan let out a small sound—like he’d stretched wrong and paid for it.
Henry twisted in his seat. “You okay?”
Ethan nodded, sunglasses still hiding his eyes. “Yeah. Just kind of sore.”
Henry’s eyebrows shot up.
“Would you just drive,” I said lightly, “and mind your fucking business?”
His mouth pressed into a thin, amused line as he nodded quickly. “I am. I’m minding it. I’m not even going to comment on the size of the hickey E’s got on his neck. Not. At. All.” He mimed zipping his lips.
Ethan snorted softly and turned to stare out of the window.
“Is Oli there?” I asked, steering the conversation away.
“Yeah. You know he’s refusing to leave for more than an hour.” Henry shook his head. “Parental overprotectiveness is cranked to a hundred.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening.
Something was off.
His posture was too rigid, his leg bouncing where it rested against the door. It didn’t track. If anything, this should’ve been the least stressful day we’d had in a while.
“Did something happen with Dad last night?”
Henry glanced at me, lips parting like he hadn’t expected the question. “No. Oli didn’t say anything.” He lifted one hand and bit at the side of his thumb.
A tell.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded too fast. “I’m fine. Just… stressed. Club stuff…” The words trailed off, unfinished.
And then he shut down, clean and sudden, the way I knew too well. A door slammed quietly behind his eyes, nothing getting in, nothing getting out.
Maybe later, when things settled, we could talk about it.
Or maybe Ethan could.
The rest of the drive passed in a quieter stretch of road and silence. Henry’s grip on the wheel eventually loosened, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough that I let it go—for now.
My thoughts drifted anyway. To my dad. To the steady rise and fall of his chest the last time I’d seen him. To the word stable—fragile and hopeful all at once.
And then, inevitably, to work.
My phone rested heavily in my palm. No response from Elena. I frowned at the screen, rereading the last message I’d sent before we left the apartment.
Me
Can you brief me on the alternative plans?
Ready to pivot
