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Lie.
My pulse stays slow.
Controlled.
Because that one sentence tells me everything I need to know.
They don’t have the drive.
They don’t have the truth.
They have me.
And they think that’s enough.
It isn’t.
The van takes a turn—sharp left.
Then accelerates.
I count.
Seconds.
Distance.
Speed.
Tracking.
Mapping.
One of them shifts.
I feel it before I see it.
Then—
I open my eyes.
He’s already looking at me.
Watching.
Smiling.
Not kind.
Never kind.
“You should’ve stayed where you were safe,” he says.
His voice is calm.
That’s worse than anger.
I meet his gaze.
