The interior of the sedan was a pressurized vault of tension and the lingering, sweet scent of the lilies that seemed to emanate from the boy's very skin. The rain hammered against the reinforced glass, creating a rhythmic, isolating static that cut them off from the rest of Freenly City.
Malcolm sat behind the wheel, his knuckles white as he gripped the leather. He glanced at the rearview mirror, seeing the small, crumpled shape of the intern in the back seat. The sight of him back there, treated like a passenger of status, made Malcolm's jaw ache.
"Get in the front," Malcolm barked, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine. "I am not your chauffeur, Vane. I don't run a limousine service for interns who can't control their own tongues."
