Inside the quiet confines of the car, Mitchell poured out his story, every humiliating detail spilling forth like a broken dam.
His voice wavered with frustration and shame, his hands clenching and unclenching as he spoke.
Starla listened intently, her expression calm but her fingers occasionally tightening on the edge of her seat.
When he finished, silence fell between them, broken only by the soft hum of the car engine.
Starla let out a long, exasperated sigh, leaning back slightly. "Sometimes," she murmured, her voice soft but edged with bitterness, "the most innocent face hides the most hideous evil."
Her gaze drifted toward the car window, though her focus seemed miles away.
There was something haunting in her expression, a flicker of pain, as if Mitchell's story had stirred a memory she'd buried deep.
