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Laia gets in the car, thrown off by Claudia's clipped tone and attitude. She puts the key in the ignition, ready to leave as quickly as possible—but when she turns it, the engine makes a strange noise and doesn't start. She tries again: the same thing, an irritating click and then nothing. After the fourth attempt she gives up and pulls the key out, shaking her head.

"Go home. I'll get a cab," she says, reaching for her phone.

Claudia seems to come back from wherever she's been, as if she hasn't understood what's happening until this moment.

"You're not taking a cab. I'll drive you," she decides, already searching for her keys in her bag.

"No way. You've been drinking."

"I had two drinks, Laia. You know I'm fine," she pushes back, irritated.

"Maybe, but if you get stopped you could blow over the limit, and—"

"I'm not going to get stopped."

Laia looks at her, worried about her behavior and, most of all, worried about Claudia getting into trouble because of her.

"Listen—if you don't want me to take a cab, I can sleep at your place and we'll both head out together in the morning. But I don't want you getting behind the wheel right now."

Claudia, who has already turned toward her car door, stops and looks back over her shoulder.

"You don't want that. You made that pretty clear the other day. Wait here—I'll be right back," she snaps, and crosses the street before Laia can get a word in.

Confused by the comment, Laia watches her disappear through the building's parking garage door, and about two minutes later—two minutes in which her mind tries to make sense of that remark—she sees the silver Mercedes appear. She runs across to get in.

"Put your seatbelt on," Claudia orders, and pulls into her lane. After that they sit in silence, letting several uncomfortable minutes go by until, as they're leaving Barcelona, Laia—as always—decides to break it, because she can't stand it.

"Do you want something different?" she asks, glancing sideways at her.

Claudia furrows her brow and turns her head for a moment to look at her, not hiding her confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

Laia swallows, steeling herself to push forward with something that feels like a live wire between them.

"What happened." She shifts in her seat, unable to find a comfortable position, unable to sit still. "You said I made it very clear the other day, so I'm guessing you mean what we talked about in the parking lot. Do you want something different?"

The question hits Claudia like a slap across the face, and the anger she's been trying to contain all night—tangled up with confusion and frustration—rises and spills over.

"No. I don't want anything—not with you, not with anyone," she says, clipped, almost cruel. "I'm perfectly happy the way things are, sleeping with whoever I feel like. I don't know why the hell I'd want anything different."

"You don't have to be rude to say that," Laia fires back, but her voice is flat—she sounds more disappointed than angry, and that only fuels Claudia's desperation.

"Why not? What's stopping me?" She turns to look at her—just for a second, one single second that passes without her eyes on the road—and when her gaze snaps back to the windshield, she sees the headlights of another car too close. She wrenches the wheel to the right to avoid it, which should be enough to correct their path, except the movement is too sharp, the car fishtails the other way, and when she tries to correct again the tires don't respond. The next thing she sees is the concrete barrier rushing toward them.

The impact is hard and dry, and Claudia hears the body of the car crunch before everything goes quiet. She's hit her head on the side window, and now there's a sharp pain in her temple and a constant ringing in her ears, and for several seconds she doesn't understand where she is or what has happened—until she turns her head, sees Laia, and her heart stops dead. The airbag on Laia's side has deployed, and Laia's face is buried in it, her head dropping back, as disoriented as Claudia was a moment ago.

"God, you're bleeding," Claudia says, leaning toward her while her heart tries to claw its way out of her chest. "Let me look."

She pushes the airbag aside, and Laia runs her fingers over her nose.

"It's nothing. I'm fine," she says, even as a sharp pain flares in her ribs.

Claudia scrabbles around desperately until she finds the box of tissues and pulls out several, pressing them against Laia's nose.

"Are you okay?" Laia asks, still blinking—and then suddenly the full weight of what's happened lands on her and her eyes go wide. "Switch seats with me," she orders, her voice nasal.

"What?"