Maryelle’s POVNight swallows the horizon in hues of indigo, making everything look more magical than it feels at the moment. Headlights carve a narrow path through the dark as I drive, the hum of the engine steady against Phantom’s restless twitching. His anxiety radiates like static in the confined space, every shift of his shoulders a reminder of the storm brewing inside him. I don’t blame him—if someone had my mother, I’d be unraveling too. “Can you drive a little faster?” His voice cracks mid‑sentence, strained, brittle, like he’s holding himself together with frayed thread. I keep my tone calm, steady, the way you speak to someone teetering on the edge. “We’ll find her, Phan. I know you’re worried, but we will get to her.” He exhales sharply, fogging the window as his gaze drifts outward. The city lights blur past, fractured reflections in the tinted glass. His fingers drum against his thigh, restless, impatient. Then, with sudden urgency, he pulls out his phone, thumb alr
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