152. What We Don’t Tell MumWesley

The car doesn’t feel the same on the way back. It’s quieter, not because no one is talking, but because the air itself feels full. Like something has been placed between us, fragile and important, and none of us want to be the one who breaks it first.

Weston sits in the front passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw tight, staring out the window as Nairobi slides past. He hasn’t said a word since we left Roman’s building. Not one complaint. Not one sarcastic ...