Melinda's whispered words threaded the tiny spell, the syllables soft, a hush of breath and fingertip pressure, an old pattern learned in late-night rushes and hurried rituals. The flame of the tiny candle winked and drew itself inward, then steadied. A pocket of heat bloomed in the car just long enough to kiss their skin, and the ambient noise beyond the windows seemed to thicken and slide past as if the vehicle had been folded into a different, private seam of the night.

Zoe's hand found ...