ISABELLA'S POV

The ride home was quiet, too quiet. Elijah had turned the music low, his fingers drumming absently against the steering wheel as we drove through the dusky streets. I could feel the tension in the air even though he was trying to hide it, that careful silence he always gave me when he knew I needed space. The faint glow from the streetlights flickered across his face, softening the edges of his jaw, and for a fleeting second, I wondered what he was thinking.

Was he curious about ...