Micah remained utterly still as he stared at the pale face before him, his gaze steady and unyielding despite the tension in the car. Clyde's complexion had lost much of its usual colour, leaving him pale, almost fragile-looking, which contrasted sharply with the intensity of his expression. His body trembled faintly, not violently, but just enough to betray the storm of emotion that he was clearly struggling to contain.
His hands, however, told an even clearer story. They were gripping Micah's shoulders with a force that bordered on painful, his fingers pressed so hard that Micah was sure it would bruise. The pressure was undeniable, insistent, almost desperate in its urgency.
Yet Micah did not react. He did not flinch. He did not even so much as shift away.
Instead, he simply looked at Clyde in silence, his expression composed to the point of seeming almost detached, though beneath that calm exterior, his thoughts moved with quiet clarity.
