Chapter 29

Rand didn’t tell me where we were going.

He just showed up early that Saturday, wearing jeans, a grey hoodie, and that half-smile that usually meant he’d made up his mind about something.

“Pack light,” he said.

I blinked. “For what?”

“For breathing,” he said, tossing his keys in the air.

I almost laughed. “You don’t breathe?”

“Not lately.”

I hesitated, but something in his voice made me stop asking questions.

So I packed — a few clothes, a sketchbook, and a toothbrush — and followed him downstairs.

The city was still half asleep when we left. The sky was pale and quiet, that soft hour before ever began to move. I didn’t realise how much I missed the sound of nothing until we hit the open road.

For a while, we didn’t talk.

The radio played quietly — old songs that sounded older than both of us — and the hum of the car filled the spaces between.

Rand drove like he was trying not to think, eyes fixed ahead, one hand on the wheel. Every now and then, he’d glance at me and smile like it wa