Victoria’s brows furrowed at the nonchalance in Illyad’s shrug. “They’re…” she faltered, debating on how much she should tell him.
	She had already broken many of the rules her aunt and uncle lived by--she [i]was[/i] standing in a warlock’s apartment, for crying out loud--and the last thing she wanted was to put them in harm’s way. So far, Illyad had only helped her, shown kindness, but she had read one too many books where the antagonists implemented the “good cop, bad cop” shtick to gain someone’s trust. She had no intention of ruling that out quite yet.
	Victoria inhaled. “They’re about a six-hour drive from here, depending on who’s behind the wheel.” She adjusted the tissue paper on her arm, wincing slightly as it pulled from the cuts.