The silence in Julian's car after the gallery was a tangible thing, weighted with the residue of pretended intimacy and Ethan's burning rage. Streetlights illuminated the dashboard, tracing fleeting patterns on Julian's tense face. My own fists were curled in my lap, the emerald silk now a uniform I couldn't shed quickly enough. The adrenaline which had fueled my icy demeanor was seeping away, replacing it with a hollow shiver and the spectral blush of Ethan's jealous stare branded on my flesh.
Julian navigated the familiar streets to Blackwell mansion's gilded cage. He'd been quiet since we'd left the gallery's electrically charged atmosphere, his eyes on the road but single-minded, yet I could feel the weight of his concern radiating from him. When the dark shape of the house loomed in sight, he spoke finally, his voice low and gravelly.
"Lila," he began, coasting smoothly up the drive. He cut the engine, plunging us into darkness almost total except for the soft glow of the porch.
