***
I don’t stop.
Not for Lilia or Bea, who are already on their way to the backyard, voices raised. Not for my father, who calls after me with something that might’ve been my name.
Not for Berlin. Or Sue. Or Merrick.
The keys dig into my palm before I’ve even reached the car, and I’m already pulling the door shut behind me by the time I hear footsteps—someone yelling for me to wait.
I don’t.
I don’t wait for anyone.
Not anymore.
The engine growls to life beneath me, and then I’m off, tearing down the road, the tires screaming around corners.They can’t have gotten that far.
I don’t know how long I’ve been driving. Minutes. Hours.
Time folds in on itself when your mind’s fractured and your purpose is burning. I just keep moving—one street to the next.
And then my phone rings. I almost don’t look. Almost let it go.
But then I see the name.
Paris.
I answer.
There’s nothing at first—just breath. Rough, uneven breathing.
“I-I knew you’d follow me,” she says finally.
My eyes snap to the road and spot her car. Just ahead. Parked sideways at the edge of a crumbling streetlight.
Of course it is.
I ease my foot off the gas and coast up beside it, and the moment she sees me, she pulls out. No hesitation.
“You baited me,” I mutter, not even trying to hide the venom in my voice.
“It was the o-only way to get y-you out of that house,” she says. “You needed to come. I-I needed you to come.”
“For what?” I laugh, but it’s empty. Ugly. “You think there’s anything left in you that I want?”
“Revenge.”
The heat inside me flares, and my grip on the wheel tightens until the tendons in my hands scream. “Explain.”
“I can give it to you,” she says. “Anderson is w-with me right now. I’ll l-let you have him.”
I hear the grunting on the other end of the line. Muffled, like someone tied up and struggling. Pathetic.
I roll my eyes.
“I’ll tell y-you,” she continues, “on one condition.”
My jaw tightens. “And that is?”
