Maybe I should go inside.
Cliff doesn't know which brands work best, or that the generic spray is useless, or that the patches on the bottom shelf are the only ones worth buying. He'll grab the wrong thing and I'll have to explain it later, and it would be easier if I?—
I lift my hand, moving it toward the door handle, but it stops. My fingers hover an inch from the chrome, trembling slightly, and then they curl back into my lap like they've been gently pushed.
I try again. Same thing.
Cliff’s command settles over me, forcing my muscles in place.
It’s not painful or anything like that.
Just a quiet, total refusal from somewhere deep inside my nervous system.
“You really can't open it, can you?” Adam's voice is soft.
I look up to find the beta’s turned slightly in the passenger seat, his honey-brown eyes watching my hand retreat from the door for the second time. His expression is light and curious.
"No," I admit. "Apparently not."
Adam is quiet for a moment. His thumb runs along the seam of his joggers and his mouth opens, closes, then opens again. It’s like he's turning the words over before he lets them out.
"Can I ask you something personal?"
My chest tightens, but he's talking to me. "Of course."
"What does it feel like?" He tilts his head slightly. "Being commanded."
I think about it. Really think about it, because he seems like he genuinely wants to know.
"It's like..." I look down at my hands in my lap. "You know when you're dreaming, and you try to run, but your legs won't move? It's like that, except it doesn't feel scary. It feels correct. Like your body agrees with the command more than it agrees with you." I pause, then snort, "Which is incredibly annoying, by the way."
The corner of Adam's mouth twitches. A small, reluctant smile that he tries to hide by ducking his head, but I catch it.
Something in my chest loosens.
"Are you and Perrin brothers?" I ask, before the silence can swallow the moment.
"Twins," Adam says.
"I thought so. You look a lot alike."
"Everyone says that." He smiles. "Perrin hates it."
"Which one of you is older?"
"I am. By four minutes." Another small smile, this one a little less reluctant. "He's never forgiven me for it."
For a few seconds, the air almost feels friendly, like two people getting to know each other on a cool summer morning, instead of whatever this actually is.
Then the driver's door opens and Cliff slides back in, a plastic bag in his hand. He drops it on the seat beside me. Spray, wipes, patches, antihistamines. Everything I asked for.
Adam turns back to face the windshield with his hands in his lap. The small smile is gone, tucked away somewhere Cliff can't see it.
The engine rumbles to life and Cliff pulls out of the parking lot.
And we drive.
Almost Home
