Instantly, Midnight prepares to clam up on the turn this conversation is being steered toward. She turns to look out the passenger window in the back, pretending as if she did not hear me. But she can't hide those pursed lips and the air of uncertainty she gives off. Maybe Midnight doesn't want to talk about it – but she knows she needs to. And I'm sure she knows I'm not going to let her keep silent all night on what's been eating at her.