The city was a dark blur behind them, a sprawl of glittering lights swallowed by the night. Anastasia's hands were loose on the steering wheel, but her posture was the same as always—straight-backed, sharp-jawed, like she could steer a tank through a battlefield and not spill her coffee. The faint hum of the car's engine blended with the steady rhythm of tires gliding over the asphalt. Outside, the salty tang of Rockaway Beach clung to the air even as its shoreline receded into shadow.
Caroline leaned back in her seat, watching the moonlight skitter across the windshield. The chill from the ocean still clung to her hair, and every time she brushed her fingers through it, she could feel the fine mist of saltwater. She exhaled softly, her tone a perfect blend of drama and melancholy, the kind that came so naturally to her it was practically a trademark.
