The drive to St. Catherine's was silent.
Not the comfortable kind.
Gerald had not been called by Ares that morning. He himself had taken the keys, which he never did on Tuesdays, Tuesdays were Gerald's mornings, had been since James began asking for them both. But today Ares had passed the car bay without saying a word, climbed in behind the wheel and Alora had slid into the passenger seat without asking why, because she was starting to learn that some things regarding this man didn't come with explanations.
Her eyes traced the city as it slipped past outside.
October had crept onto the streets overnight, that particular grey not yet cold but teasing a promise of it — the kind of morning that made everything feel, if not final, then just a little more so. Or the other way around, perhaps. Perhaps today was as final as the end felt.
She didn't say anything.
Neither did he.
