We take an exit I don’t recognize. The highway gives way to a narrower road lined with pines and darkness. No streetlights. Just Sin’s headlights cutting through the black.
The silence presses in.
I glance at him again. His profile is all angles and restraint, like he was carved out of stubborn stone. The dash lights pick out the faint scar on his cheek, the edge of his mouth, the concentration in his eyes.
My heart does a stupid little stumble. I swallow. Focus. Not the time.
The road turns into gravel. The car crunches forward, and my stomach knots because gravel roads at night are how horror movies begin. Then the trees part. A small airstrip appears, lit by sparse runway lights that look like they’ve been forgotten by civilization on purpose.
A single plane sits at the end of the tarmac, engine idling.
My breath catches. “We’re flying?” I ask.
Sin’s answer is simple. “Yes.”
“We’re moving again,” I say, and my voice tips toward disbelief. “We just got here. We just handed over my phone. We just…”
He pulls up near the plane and kills the engine. “We just confirmed you’re being monitored. Which means we don’t stay put.”
I turn in my seat. “This feels like a lot.”
“It is.”
He gets out, walks around, and opens my door. The cold night air hits my face, sharp and clean. I step down, and my feet crunch on the gravel. The plane’s prop wash pushes at my hair.
A man stands near the aircraft, headset on, posture relaxed. Another Salt & Steel operator. He nods at Sin with the casual confidence of people who do dangerous things before breakfast.
Sin doesn’t linger. He guides me toward the plane with a light touch at my back. My skin sparks where his palm rests, and I hate that too, because my body’s a traitor.
We climb into the cabin. It’s smaller than the jet from earlier, but comfortable. Two rows of seats, leather, clean lines. A faint scent of fuel mixed with something citrusy, like someone tried to make a plane smell like a spa.
Sin sits across from me, angled slightly so he can see both me and the door. Of course he does.
I buckle in, then look at him. “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”
“We’re heading south,” he says.
“That’s ominous.”
“You’ll see.”
I narrow my eyes. “You really love that phrase.”
“I love staying alive more.”
The pilot’s voice comes through the small intercom, announcing takeoff. The plane begins to move, rolling down the runway with a smooth surge. My stomach lifts. The world outside blurs intodark trees and lights. Then we’re airborne. I grip the armrest, not because I’m afraid of flying, but because everything about tonight is too much motion, too much uncertainty. My life has become a chessboard and I don’t even know which piece I am.
Sin’s gaze is on me. “You okay?”
I nod quickly. “Fine.”
His eyes hold mine. “Lie.”
I glare at him. “Stop doing that.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not lying,” I say, then my voice drops. “I’m just… trying not to fall apart.”
