When I emerge, I take a shaky breath. “I’m invincible,” I whisper to myself. “I’m invincible. I’m invincible. I’m invincible.”
The van keys are in the ignition. I can’t believe my luck.
I slide into the driver’s seat, my hands slippery with sweat as I grip the steering wheel. This is actually happening. I’m actually doing this again.
I start the engine, the sound making me jump even though I was expecting it.
I hear my name faintly from a distance. Shit.
The gate opens automatically as I approach—the system recognizing the van as authorized. I drive through slowly, even though my heart is beating so loudly I’m sure the guards can hear it, even though they’re probably running toward the gate now.
In the rearview mirror, I see the Moretti estate shrinking behind me.
Holy shit. I actually made it out.
I drive north for an hour, taking back roads and avoiding highways where possible. The van has a full tank of gas and a GPS that I immediately turn off. When I reach a small town called Cloverbend, I abandon the van in a grocery store parking lot and start walking.
For two hours, I feel like I might actually make it.
I’m walking along a rural road, thinking about catching a bus to the next town, when I hear the helicopter.
It starts as a distant thrum, easily mistaken for farm equipment or construction. But as it gets closer, I know.
They found me.
I don’t run. There’s nowhere to go, and I’m tired of running anyway. Instead, I sit down on a stone wall beside the road and wait.
The helicopter circles once before landing in the field across from me. Three black SUVs arrive within minutes, surrounding me like I’m some kind of dangerous criminal.
Alaric gets out of the lead vehicle.
He doesn’t look angry. He looks disappointed, which is somehow worse.
“Two days,” he says, walking toward me with his hands in his pockets. “I gave you two days to settle in, to accept the situation, and this is what you do.”
I don’t answer.
“Get up.”
I stand slowly, brushing dust off my borrowed shirt. When he reaches me, he stops just close enough that I can smell his cologne.
“The delivery woman spent three hours being questioned by my security team before we figured out what happened,” he says quietly. “She’s traumatized. Lionel is…let’s say he’s being taughtone or two things about guarding a person. And you…” He sighs. “You’re going to be locked up in your room twenty-four hours a day from now on.”
“I had to try.”
“No, you didn’t.” His green eyes are cold, distant. “You had a choice. Accept protection and live comfortably, or keep running and end up dead. You chose to be difficult.”
One of his men approaches with restraints, but Alaric waves him off. “She’ll behave,” he says, never taking his eyes off me. “Won’t you?”
I nod, ashamed of how much his disappointment affects me.
The ride back to the estate passes in silence. I sit in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the countryside I almost escaped into. When we reach the gates, I see new security measures being installed—additional cameras, more guards, and checkpoint barriers.
All because of me.
“Your room has been moved,” Alaric says as we pull up to the house. “Top floor, no windows facing the grounds. Twenty-four hour surveillance.”
I expect to feel claustrophobic at the news, but all I feel is tired.
