A fragile, tired honesty escaped her before she could stop it.
“It’s this,” she said quietly, “or sleeping under a bridge.”
The words hung between them.
For the first time that night, something in Caleb’s composure cracked — not outwardly, not dramatically, but in a subtle shift of breath, a tightening in his expression that did not belong to indifference.
He studied her as if reassessing something fundamental.
Not the Messenger.
Not the bond.
Her.
The red thread between them glowed faintly in the dim interior of the car — steady, undeniable.
His gaze lifted back to her eyes.
Intensity filled the silence.
Iva lingered for one heartbeat too long before speaking.
“Thank you… for the ride,” she said awkwardly, fingers already on the handle. The words felt small compared to everyth
