Letecia's car sped along the winding road that cut through the dense, wind-shaken forest. The sky, glimpsed through the bare arms of the trees, was the color of lead; the sun hid behind a woolen blanket of clouds. Everything around seemed to be holding its breath, waiting—though no one could say for what.
Inside the car, there was a thick, uneasy silence—only the soft hum of the engine and the light crunch of tires on gravel broke it.
William stared out of the window, trying not to look at Letecia. Her hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles pale. Beside him, on the back seat, Milagros sat quietly, gazing at the fogged glass. Her reflection was dim and grey, as if the sky itself had settled in her eyes.
Fifteen minutes passed before William finally spoke. He cleared his throat, pretending to sound casual.
"Hey, Les…" He hesitated, studying her profile. "What happened back at the cafeteria? You went pale when someone mentioned Arkham."
