“I should come with you one of these days. Punching things sounds like fun right about now.”
“It’s extremely therapeutic.” I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, I’ll text you the address. Why don’t you meet me there in an hour? I can introduce you to Finn.”
Hannah groans, but there’s a hint of her usual humor in it. “Promise me you aren’t trying to set me up.”
I laugh outright. “Definitely not. Finn is not a setup kind of guy.”
“Is he cute?”
“Yeah, but much more into his computers than human relationships.”
“Great. Hot and emotionally unavailable,” she mock-grumbles. “Just my type.”
At the next stoplight, I send her the address to Brady’s gym. Hannah and Finn? I shake my head at the absurdity of the thought.
The gym parking lot is mostly empty when I pull in. A few familiar cars are scattered near the entrance. But as I scan the spaces, my eyes snag on Hannah’s blue sedan, backed up against the curb by the street. She’s early.
A faint unease stirs again, like a whisper at the back of my neck. Why did she park so far away? The lot’s not full. Why not come inside to wait?
I can see the silhouette of her head through the window in the driver’s seat. She’s just sitting there, not making any move to get out.
Oh, crap!I hope she didn’t think I was being coy about it not being a setup. Finn will kill me if he thinks I’m playing matchmaker.
I park closer to the building, grabbing my gym bag from the passenger seat. Maybe she got here early and decided to wait in the car? Scroll through her phone or something. I hesitate for a second, debating whether to text her or just head inside.
But that prickling sensation won’t let up. Something feels... off.
Pocketing my keys, I make my way over to her car.
As I get closer, I see her more clearly. Her head is angled down, like she’s staring at her lap. Maybe her phone? But she’s unnaturally still.
My unease sharpens. Not wanting to startle her, I lift my hand and wave when I’m still a few feet away. “Hey!”
No response. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t move at all.
Something is definitely wrong.
My pulse kicks up a notch. I cross the remaining distance quickly, heart thudding louder in my ears. I tap lightly on the driver’s side window, peering in. “Hannah?”
She jerks her head up with a little shriek, eyes wide and startled. I let out a startled laugh of my own, pressing a hand to my chest to steady my racing heart.
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She swings the door open but doesn’t get out, instead she hunches over with a low moan. The concern floods back.
“Hannah?” I lean in, reaching for her arm. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Wide, frantic eyes meet mine. “Help,” she gasps, the word cutting off into another moan. She pitches forward, out of the car, and I catch her instinctively, my arms wrapping around her to steady her.
“Oh my god. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
And then her hand moves.
Too fast for me to stop it.
There’s a brief, sharp sting at the side of my neck followed by the cold pressure of liquid flooding beneath my skin, spreading like ice through my veins.
For half a heartbeat, my brain refuses to process it. Refuses to believe what’s happening. And then her hand pulls away, a syringe glinting in her grip as her “limp” body straightens, her expression shifting from pained to smug.
