The elevator doors slid shut with a soft thud, encasing the Richards inside.
Macy stood beside Graeme, her coat still gripped tight in her hands. Her shoulder stung from where the fabric had been yanked, but her mind was elsewhere—buzzing, unsettled.
Rita.
The name echoed in her ears like a ghost dragged into the light.
Unease settled deep into her gut.
She didn’t speak as they walked toward the car. Neither did Graeme. His jaw was locked, his brows low over his eyes, expression unreadable.
Macy climbed in silently. The car door closed with a soft click, muffling the world outside. For a few moments, all that could be heard was the hum of the engine and the sound of her own breathing.
Then Graeme spoke, quietly. “I didn’t expect her to say that.”
His voice was lower than usual. N
