Her head rests back against the seat, and she turns to look at him. Her expression softens, and she just drinks in the sight of him for a long moment. (She's not staying. She can't stay.)

"Not like this," she murmurs, her tone telling him all he needs to know.

The night closes around the car, darkness broken only by a few street lights and the occasional Christmas display. He's rescued her, she thinks, watching his profile. Again.