Page 67 of Seeking Shadows

“You can’t choose for me.” I press my hand against her forehead.

So stop lying. Stop pushing me away.

“I’m tired from training. Let’s eat,” Mia says, ignoring my comment and dropping the gun.

“You’re a terrible teacher.”

“It’s not like you needed help with weapons. But if you want, I can kick your ass later.”

“You need waffles, don’t you?”

“My comfort food.” She shrugs as we walk out of the shed.

She’s already at the car door before I even unlock it. Then she turns to me with a mischievous smile, twirling the keys between her fingers.

“I drive.”

I narrow my eyes, stepping to her side. “You always want to drive.”

“Because I’m great at it.”

“You almost hit a fire hydrant last week. And you think driving is the perfect time to text your friends.”

“He appeared out of nowhere. And you know I don’t like ignoring people—it’s rude.”

“You know what’s rude? Dying.”

“Dramatic,” she snorts.

I sigh, running a hand over my face. Mia takes advantage of my hesitation to try and grab the door handle, but I’m quicker, snatching the keys from her hand at the last second.

“Ah, that was a low blow!” She crosses her arms, sulking.

I shrug, opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. “You can pick the music.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Climbing into the passenger seat, she’s already connecting her phone to the stereo within seconds.Godzillaby Juice WRLD and Eminem starts playing, and Mia hums along, completely immersed.

Whenever I see her like this, I remember the first time she ever listened to music. Watching how her perception of the world has changed over time still leaves me stunned. She’s a completely different person, yet still so vibrant, her hyperfocus on Eminem’s lyrics oddly endearing. It’s been interesting to see her taste develop—a mix of rock and rap—while I lean more toward rap and pop.

She suddenly turns to me, excitement lighting up her face.

“I know this diner in the middle of nowhere that has the best waffles you’ll ever eat.”

I raise a brow. “Better than mine?”

“Little Angel, don’t exaggerate. You know your waffles will always have sentimental value for me, but these aregood. Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside… and the owner is a sweetheart. He always gives me extra whipped cream because he says my smile lights up the restaurant.”

Mia talks with that contagious enthusiasm, hands gesturing as she describes the place. But then, out of nowhere, she goes quiet.

Her silence isn’t common. It isn’t comfortable.

I keep my eyes on the road but lower the music slightly. “You okay? Thinking about your father again?”

She lets out a humorless laugh, staring out the window. “Not exactly.”

I wait. Mia doesn’t like being pushed, so I let the silence work through her.

She sighs, pulling her knees to her chest in the passenger seat. “I’m used to him not caring about me. He’s always been like that. He’s always delegated that responsibility to others—Paulina, James, you. But now… now he’s even more distant. And that makes me nervous. I don’t trust his silence.”

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