Gideon closes their door then takes the passenger side. I circle to the driver’s. Penelope is already behind the wheel, fingers white on the leather. I climb in behind her seat next to my niece and nephew.
“Drive,” Gideon says quietly. “Don’t look back.”
PENELOPE
I pull out of the service drive with my heart beating so hard it feels like it could explode out of my chest at any minute.
In the rear-view mirror, I can see them. Talon has Minxy tucked against his side, their shoulders pressed together so tightly there isn’t a fraction of air between them. The metal piece on his glasses glints when he leans down to murmur against her hair, his tattooed fingers flexing where they grip her hoodie like he’s physically holding her together.
Every time the car bumps over a crack in the asphalt, she flinches and tightens her grip, and he murmurs something against her hair. I can’t hear the words over the engine, but I don’t need the exact syllables to know what they are. You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m here.
Gideon watches the side mirror, forearm braced on the window, the ink along his skin catching the passing light. His jaw flexes every time a car gets too close. Silas sits angled in the back, one arm draped over the seat, eyes never leaving the siblings. He’s not crowding them, just holding the space like a wall.
The clinic shrinks in the rear-view. Minxy’s school van is still parked at the curb, blissfully unaware its cargo just vanished.
Every breath feels too big for my chest.
“How long until we get there?” Minxy asks quietly.
“Two hours or so,” I answer. “If traffic cooperates.”
“And where exactly are you taking me? I can’t go to Abi’s. She knows I know things.”
“We need to know what those things are, but not right now. When you’re settled. We’re taking you to Penelope’s. Abi won’t look for you there since she hasn’t allowed you to meet or see anyone.”
She presses her cheek back to Talon’s shoulder. “Can I sleep when we get there?”
“Yes,” I say. “As long as you need.”
“What if Mom finds me?” Her voice gets smaller on the last word.
Talon shakes his head, fierce. “She’s not touching you again.”
She looks at him, at Gideon, at Silas, then finally at me in the mirror. Her eyes are wary and young and too old all at once.
“You’re really not with her,” she says. “Any of you.”
Gideon’s mouth hardens. “No,” he answers. “We’re with you.”
Something in her shoulders loosens. Not all the way, but enough that her posture changes from braced to resting. She leans her head back against the headrest for a moment, then shifts closer to Talon, still clutching his hand.
I turn us onto the highway and merge into traffic. Cars glide past in the other lanes, everyone else on their ordinary business. No one honks. No one stares. To them, we’re just another vehicle on the road.
Inside the car, everything has changed.
Talon meets my eyes in the mirror. There’s still fear there, and shock, and grief, but beneath it all is something steadier. Resolve.
Not that long ago, he thought he was drowning alone.
Now there are four of us in this car and a fifth in the crosshairs of the woman who calls herself “Mom.”
I tighten my grip on the wheel and angle us toward home.
We did it.
We stole a girl out of Hell.
Now we have to keep her.
