Billy said nothing at first. Keys in hand, he tossed his jacket and vest into the backseat, leaving him in his shirt and suspenders. He didn't even seem to hear Mike at first. Focused intently on getting the key in the ignition, buckling himself in, and checking his mirrors. It was the intense focus of a man on the verge of cracking, slow and deliberate. But where most would have been nervous and unsteady, he was as firm as ever. There was no tremble in his fingers. His gaze remained firm and confident, not flitting toward every sound.

He'd built a wall between himself and everything. A wall that he'd patched as he worked, making it stronger. To keep everything at bay. A wall he didn't dare try to crack now. Not until he was alone. Not until he could be sure of what was building up behind it. Because once he pulled it down, there would be no putting it back.

"Sure," he said, as terse and cold as Mike had been at the start. "Where to?" Not a word about what had happened, nor a question of fault. He seemed calm and cold as he started the car, squinting as the headlights flared on. Before Mike could answer, he was already backing out.