"Lyle Westbrook, Lyle Westbrook..." Her voice was hoarse, and she had bitten her lower lip so hard that it was bleeding. The taste of blood spread between her lips and teeth as she desperately pounded on the car window, anxiously shouting at the person inside, "Lyle Westbrook, don't scare me, wake up!"
It was unclear if it was because he heard her voice or something else.
The figure inside the car remained motionless, just like a man asleep, except the fingers resting on the steering wheel suddenly twitched.
The movement was very slight and subtle, barely noticeable unless you looked closely.
But Enna Clark did notice, and hope surged within her as she pulled even harder on the car door, "Lyle Westbrook!"
