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Perfect place to disappear.
Perfect place to die.
My pulse steadies.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Something colder.
Something final.
They wanted her.
They took her.
Now—
They get me.
20
Lark
Location: In Transit — Inside the Van
Time: Same
The drug is wearing off.
Good.
That tells me they dosed me lightly.
Which means they were in a hurry.
Which means they’re not as in control as they want me to believe.
My wrists throb—pins and needles starting to creep back in.
Zip ties.
Tight enough to hurt.
Not tight enough to stop me.
I catalog everything.
Engine pitch—steady, not city stop-and-go anymore.
Road texture—rougher now. Industrial.
Turns—left, long… right, short…
Then—
A sharp jolt.
