Amelia POV

The ride back was quiet. Too quiet.

Maxwell kept talking—low, careful sentences about the stars, about how the city looked better from above, how he used to come to that rooftop as a boy when everything else felt like too much. His voice was calm. Almost… content.

And I hated him for it.

I sat beside him in the passenger seat, hands folded in my lap, knuckles white. My gaze fixed on the passing lights outside the window, but I wasn’t seeing them.

I was watching him. Not just ...