And I’m tired of running.
Chapter Thirty Four
Nico
We don’t move or even breathe.
There’s the sound again. Like something being dragged on the floor. And it’s coming from the direction we need to go to get out.
Vito’s mouth tightens.
He leans in close enough that I can feel his breath on my ear.
“We’re not alone,” he whispers.
“No,” I whisper back. “We’re not.”
I ease one step forward, keeping to the edge of the aisle where the stacked pallets break up the sightlines.
Vito mirrors me without being told, shoulders squared, hands loose at his sides like he’s ready to move fast.
The pallet jack squeaks again, closer now.
A low murmur follows it—two voices, indistinct, the kind of casual conversation you only have when you think you’re alone.
I nod once toward a row of shrink-wrapped boxes.
Vito ducks with me behind them, both of us going still.
The voices drift past the far end of the aisle.
A laugh.
A thud.
Then the pallet jack wheels away again, the sound receding, leaving the warehouse quiet in that tense, waiting way.
I count to five in my head, then ten.
Vito’s eyes stay on me, waiting.
“Move,” I mouth.
We slip out, staying low, and cut across to the next aisle where the light dies almost completely.
I glance back the way we came, then forward into the deeper rows.
Wrong direction for the exit.
Wrong direction for the pallets.
We need to get back to those three stacks, and we need to do it without walking straight into whoever’s in here.
Vito leans in, barely moving his lips. “We grab and go.”
“No,” I whisper, and I keep my eyes on the gaps between the pallets. “I think we have to cut our losses.”
He gives me a dirty look.
