My hand finds his back, fingers curling into the fabric of his thermal, gripping tight.
His muscles tense under my palm. His stance shifts, his weight settling back toward me.
He doesn't turn. Doesn't speak.
He just lets me hold on.
The sedan rolls forward. Slow. Moving.
Pulling into the driveway.
"Down." His voice cracks through the room. "Floor. Now."
I slide down the wall, my back scraping against the plaster. Knees hit hardwood. Palms brace against the cold floor. From somewhere above me, I hear him move—the soft scrape of metal, the shift of his weight as he changes position.
The crunch of tires on gravel. Getting closer.
I squeeze my eyes shut. This is how they found me. This is the safe house all over again—gunshots, hands grabbing, the screaming that never—
The sound changes.
The crunch continues, but the direction shifts. Reversing. The sedan is turning around.
I don't move. Don't breathe. Count the seconds in the space between heartbeats.
Gravel. Engine. The sound growing fainter. Fainter.
Gone.
I stay on the floor. My hands are shaking—I see them, pressed against the hardwood, trembling, disconnected. Not quite mine. My whole body is shaking, and I can't make it stop.
"They're gone." His voice comes from above me. "Car's gone. You can get up."
I can't.
I try to push myself up and my arms won't cooperate. The floor is cold under my palms, and I focus on that—the temperature, the grain of the wood, the place where a knot creates a bump under my left hand—something real.
Footsteps. He crouches in front of me, lowering himself to my level.
"Eden. Look at me."
I do. His face is hard, watchful, but the gun is lowered now, pointed at the floor between us.
"They left," he says. "Could have been lost. Could have been checking addresses. Happens sometimes out here—people miss turns, need to use a driveway to turn around."
"You don't believe that."
His jaw works.
"No."
"Your phone didn't buzz."
He hears it too—the absence. He flexes his grip on the gun.
"I'm going to do a perimeter check." He stands, and the gun comes up with him. "Stay away from the windows. Don't open the door for anyone."
"Diesel—"
