Briony’s POV

Jareth drives. I sit beside him. Neither of us fills the space between breaths, and the silence feels like a confession we still haven’t spoken aloud.

When I turn onto Maple Street, my lungs seize. My foot finds the brake without my permission, and the car glides forward at a painful crawl.

“Jareth,” I murmur, and the name scrapes my throat.

He doesn’t ask why. He’s already looking.

The house—our ...