I felt it immediately—that instinctive hesitation. The one you don’t like admitting out loud.
He opened the back door and got in without saying a word. The car dipped slightly under his weight. For a few seconds, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the quiet ticking of the turn signal.
“Name?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
“Marcus,” he said.
His voice was lower than I expected. Not aggressive. Just… tired. I nodded and started the ride.
Most late-night rides fall into two categories—either people talk too much, or not at all. Marcus was the second type, but there was something different about his silence. It wasn’t relaxed. It wasn’t casual.
It was heavy.
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