33. Clara

33

CLARA

M y eyelids grow heavy as our car winds through the dark roads leading to the airstrip outside New York. The past few days have been a blur, and exhaustion finally catches up to me. The white lines on the road start to blur together.

"Silas, I need you to take over. I can't keep my eyes open much longer."

He glances over from the passenger seat, his blue eyes reflecting concern. "There's a diner coming up in a few miles. Let's grab something to eat first. And then I'll drive the last hour to the airstrip."

I nod, gripping the steering wheel tighter to stay alert. A few minutes later, the neon glow of "Betty's All-Night Diner" appears through the darkness. The gravel crunches under our tires as I pull into the nearly empty parking lot.

The bell chimes as we enter. The diner smells of coffee and grilled onions, and warmth wraps around us. An elderly waitress with faded red hair leads us to a booth by the window. The vinyl seats crackle as we slide in.

"What can I get you, folks?" She pulls out a notepad, her pen hovering expectantly.

"Two cheeseburgers and fries," Silas orders for both of us. "And coffee."

I lean back against the booth, fighting to keep my eyes open. The fluorescent lights cast strange shadows across Silas's face, but his presence beside me remains oddly comforting. The waitress returns with two steaming mugs, and I gratefully wrap my cold hands around mine.

“Airstrip is only about one hour away," Silas says quietly, his voice barely carrying across the table. "Get some food in you, then I'll drive the rest of the way."

I nod, watching headlights sweep past the window. The diner's radio plays soft country music, creating a strange bubble in our anything-but-normal situation.

The burgers arrive, steam rising from the perfectly grilled patties. Despite everything, my stomach growls at the sight.

My heart stops as the TV mounted in the corner flickers to life. The local news station's logo spins across the screen before revealing our faces. My professional headshot from the precinct and Silas's driver's license photo side by side appear on the screen.

"Breaking news in the Christmas Reaper case..." the anchor's voice drifts across the diner.

My fingers tighten around my coffee mug. Sweat beads on my neck despite the chill from outside. I force myself to bite my burger, which tastes like sawdust.

"Easy," Silas murmurs, his voice low and steady. His hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently. "Don't draw attention. The waitress is too busy texting to notice anything."

I glance over at the counter. Sure enough, the red-haired waitress is hunched over her phone, thumbs flying across the screen. The TV continues its broadcast, but the sound is too low to make out the details.

"We should go," I whisper, calculating the quickest path to the door.

"No." Silas takes another casual bite of his burger. "Leaving suddenly would look suspicious. Finish your food. Act normal."

I force myself to breathe slowly, mimicking his relaxed posture. The news segment changes to the weather, and I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. Still, my stomach churns as I mechanically work through my meal.

The waitress finally looks up from her phone, but only to refill the coffee cup of a truck driver three booths down. She has yet to glance at the TV once.

"See?" Silas's thumb traces circles on my palm. "We're fine. Just stay cool."

I force myself to take another bite of my burger, but my hands won't stop shaking. The TV screen looms behind Silas's head, a constant reminder of our danger. Yet here he sits, methodically working through his fries like we're on a normal date.

His composure grounds me. While panic threatens to overwhelm my senses, Silas maintains perfect control. He catches a drop of ketchup with his tongue, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

The contrast between his calm demeanor and my racing heart sparks something inside me. I lean across the table and press my lips against his. The kiss is quick but intense.

Silas pulls back, a rare look of surprise crossing his features. "What was that for?" His lips curve into that dangerous smile I've grown to crave. "Not that I'm complaining."

My cheeks flush as I realize what I've done. But at this moment, with sirens probably racing toward us and our faces plastered across every news channel, the truth spills out.

"I love you." The words come out in a whisper, but they feel right. "The way you keep me steady, how you always know what to do... I love you."

His eyes darken, and his hand tightens around mine under the table. He doesn't say it back—I don't expect him to—but the way he looks at me tells me everything I need to know.

Silas shifts in the booth, his intense eyes locking with mine. "Come here," he commands softly, patting the vinyl seat beside him.

My heart races as I slide around the curved booth. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer. The heat of his body seeps into mine, and his fingers trace patterns on my hip.

"You make me feel things I've never felt before," he murmurs against my ear. "Things I didn't think were possible."

His lips find mine, and this time, the kiss is deeper and hungrier. My fingers tangle in his dark hair as his tongue explores my mouth. The diner fades away—the fluorescent lights, the clinking plates, the tinny country music. There's only Silas, his touch setting my skin on fire.

"Get a fucking room!" A gruff voice breaks through our bubble.

Silas pulls back slowly, his eyes dangerous as they fix on the trucker two booths over. The man's face drains of color as his gaze darts between Silas and the TV screen, redisplaying our photos.

My heart pounds as Silas yanks me from the booth, throwing cash on the table. His grip on my arm is firm but not painful as he guides me toward the exit. The trucker's eyes follow us, his mouth opening – probably to call for help.

The bell chimes again as we burst into the cold night air. Snow falls in fat flakes, coating the parking lot in white. Silas pushes me toward the passenger side while fishing the keys from his pocket.

"Get in," he commands, already sliding behind the wheel.

I barely have my door closed before the engine roars to life. Gravel sprays as we peel out of the lot, the diner's neon glow fading behind us.

"He recognized us," I say, my voice shaking. "He's probably calling the police right now."

"Let him." Silas's hands are steady on the wheel as he quickly turns onto the highway. "We'll be long gone by the time they mobilize."

I obsessively check the rearview mirror, but no headlights follow us. The snow falls harder now, creating a white tunnel in our headlights. The darkness beyond seems to swallow everything else.

"How far to the airstrip?" I ask, trying to focus on logistics instead of panic.

"Twenty minutes." Silas accelerates. "The plane's fueled and ready."

His confidence settles my nerves somewhat. I reach across the console and place my hand on his thigh. He covers it with his own, squeezing gently.

The highway stretches empty before us, our headlights cutting through the falling snow. Each mile brings us closer to escape, freedom, and a new life where we can be ourselves without hiding.