The windows rolled down in unison. Two faces appeared, two mouths already forming the shape of explanations that would not come. They looked at each other across the narrow distance, caught in the absurdity of their own cruelty, and found no suitable excuse between them.
I spared them the effort.
"It's fine." My voice was even. Colorless. "I'll drive myself."
Relief flooded both their faces so quickly it was almost comical. A breath released. Shoulders dropping. The tension dissolving like sugar in hot espresso. But beneath the relief, I caught the flicker of something else. Confusion. A dim awareness that the woman standing before them was not behaving the way she was supposed to. That the script had changed, and they had not been given the new pages.
"Seraphina..." Giancarlo began, leaning out of his window, one arm draped over the door.
I pressed the button on my own car's remote. The locks clicked open. I slid behind the wheel, pulled the door shut, and raised the window before his voice could reach me. I had no interest in hearing another beautifully constructed lie. Not today. Not ever again.
The convoy pulled out of the garage and into the streets of Riviera City.