The summer night clung to my skin, thick with heat and tension. I gripped the wheel tighter, the black car growling as I pushed it harder down the highway.

"You’re not even gonna tell me what’s going on?" she snapped beside me, voice slicing through the humid air.

I didn’t look at her. I only drove faster, jaw locked. "You're in danger. That's all you need to know."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her slam her hand against the dashboard, furious. "Not good enough! You think you can just drag me away without explaining anything?"

The car jerked as I took the next turn too fast. I didn’t care. I needed distance — from the city, from the threats, from everything I couldn’t control. "If you know too much, they'll come for you harder," I muttered. "I'm already risking too much keeping you this close."

Her glare burned into the side of my face. I felt it — sharp, accusing, the kind of anger that used to undo me.

"So what am I?" she demanded. "Something you hide away when things get ugly?"

I laughed, low and humorless. If only she knew how much I wished I could hide her — shield her from all of it. "You were always too soft for this world. That’s why you need me."

Her voice trembled, but she didn’t back down. "You don't own me."

Finally, I glanced at her, letting her see it — the rawness I never showed anyone else. "No," I said, voice rough. "But I will protect you. Even if you hate me for it."

She turned away, pressing her forehead against the window. I caught the way her shoulders stiffened, the way she tried to breathe through the mess I’d made.

I said nothing more. I just kept driving faster, like speed could somehow keep her safe — like speed could outrun the wreckage I'd dragged us into.