Thirteen.
Blake’s chest tightened with something he didn’t have a name for. Not yet.
He shifted gears, merging onto the coastal highway. “Hold on,” he said, more to himself than to her.
Because whatever waited at those coordinates, it wasn’t safety. It was the beginning of a war.
And he wasn’t sure who the enemy was anymore.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The drive blurredinto darkness and motion. Vivian kept her gaze on the window, watching the coastline unravel in brief flashes of streetlight and shadow. The farther they got from the hospital, the more the world fell away. City noise thinned to wind, headlights carving a narrow path toward the gray stretch of sea and sky.
She should’ve felt relief. They’d escaped—at least for now. But relief didn’t come. Not when her pulse still echoed the memory of sirens. Not when Thirteen’s face burned behind her eyes.
“You okay?” Blake’s voice was low, careful, like he feared anything louder might splinter the fragile hold she had left.
Vivian didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she could.
Blake’s hand left the wheel long enough to find hers. His fingers wrapped around her trembling ones with a steadiness she didn’t feel. He didn’t squeeze, just anchored her.
“Viv,” he murmured, jaw tight. “When this is over… you and I need to talk.”
She felt that more than she heard it.
He let out a ragged breath. “When I saw you in that hospital bed… something in me just…” He shook his head. “Broke.”
A tight throb rose in her throat. Her reflection wavered in the glass, wide-eyed and raw. Not distant. Not composed. Exposed in a way she’d spent years training out of herself. Something warm flickered behind her sternum—a dangerous mix of fear and longing.
“Blake…” Her voice dragged. Her tongue tasted like antiseptic and adrenaline. “Now’s not the time.”
“I know.” He didn’t let go of her hand. “I just needed you to know it matters. You matter.”
The words fell between them, soft but heavy enough to shift the air in the cabin. Her breath stalled. Her heart knocked too hard against her ribs, betraying her completely.
She wanted to tell him this was textbook trauma, confinement, heightened stakes. Behavioral science had entire chapters about false bonds forged under pressure. She should’ve dismissed it.
But she didn’t. Because the truth underneath was so much sharper.
Something fragile stirred in her chest, something she wasn’t ready to examine. Not while they were running for their lives. Not when she couldn’t trust what belonged to fear and what belonged to him.
So she stayed quiet.
And she didn’t pull her hand free.
“Place is ahead,” Blake said, his voice back to steel.
He turned off the main road, tires crunching over gravel. A narrow drive wound through white covered rolling hills before the house appeared—an aging beach rental no one would glance at twice. Shuttered windows. Faded paint. Solitude wrapped in salt air.
He killed the engine. Neither of them moved.
“You really think we can trust Thirteen?” Vivian asked.
Blake opened the envelope. Map, coordinates, keycard—proof and uncertainty stacked together. “We’ll know soon. Not like we have many options.”
She studied his face. The cut along his ribs, the bruise deepening along his cheek, exhaustion tugging at his eyes. “You’re bleeding again.”
“I’ve had worse.”
