La Mort Noire

The claustrophobic car felt like a cage. Six hours trapped in the back seat, the monotonous GPS voice droning directions, and the endless babble of his younger stepsister, Ava, was Elias’s personal hell. Leaning his head against the cool window, he stared at the blurry reflection of his own miserable face, his dead hazel-green eyes hidden behind messy brown curls.
“Almost there,” his father sighed, a forced cheerfulness in his voice that made Ava giggle. “Says it’ll take about six more minutes before we see mommy.”
“Mommy!” Ava bounced, accidentally hitting Elias with her doll. “Eli! We’re gonna see mommy—”
“She’s not my mom,” Elias snapped, the harsh words hanging heavy in the air. His father’s cheerful tone vanished, replaced by a dark, narrowed gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Elias.” The warning was clear.
“Yeah…” Elias sighed, rubbing his head. “I get it.” The car fell silent, the tension thick enough to suffocate.
