8-3

The atmosphere in the car was so tense that you could almost cut it with a knife. The radio played joyful, energetic songs, but in the face of the oppressive mood permeating the air, they felt extremely unnerving, to the point that the passengers were tempted to just tear it out, and toss it out of the window. 

Still, nobody dared to make a move, or even to make a sound.

Yu Qingyu held to the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He chewed on his lower lip, his eyes obsessively glued to the road, trying to ignore his teammates, as well as the faint smell of cigarettes wafting through the air, and reaching his nose.

Zan Fanhan, sitting in the front seat, was covered in cold sweat. She could feel the burning stare at the back of her neck, but she pretended not to notice anything. Still, it was easy to tell how uncomfortable she was - her back was unnaturally straight, and so was her head, her unfocused eyes staring into the distance.