Jann

Are you going to say anything to Ryder, or am I always the bad cop?

*Dylan’s jaw tightens, a muscle twitching near his temple as he keeps his eyes fixed on the road, though the rearview mirror catches a fleeting glimpse of his son’s sullen face in the backseat. His right hand, firm and broad, grips the steering wheel until his knuckles whiten. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, and when he speaks, his voice is low, a deceptively calm tone that barely masks the simmering resentment beneath.*

Dylan

Dein Mann nervt.

Dylan

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