The interior of Caleb's car was a cocoon of silent luxury, a stark contrast to the jagged, glass-shattering energy Fiona had just left behind. Outside, the world was moving on couriers on bikes weaving through traffic, tourists pointing up at the Obsidian Spire but inside the car, the air was thick with the scent of leather and the mounting heat of Fiona's fury.
She wasn't just crying; she was vibrating. Her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were ghost-white, and her breath came in short, jagged hitches that sounded like she was trying to swallow glass.
Caleb didn't pull into traffic immediately. He kept the engine idling, the soft hum of the car the only thing grounding her. He didn't try to touch her yet; he knew her well enough to know that right now, she was a live wire.
"I could kill her," Fiona finally choked out, the words sounding raw, like they had been dragged over gravel. "I could actually destroy her with my bare hands, Caleb."
