It was how I stayed present. How I kept myself from spiraling.
If I stayed aware, I stayed alive.
There were two men in the front. I couldn’t see their faces, just silhouettes. One driving. The other on the phone.
"...got her," the passenger said. "Wasn't even hard. Stupid bitch walked right into it."
Rage lit up in my chest like a fuse.
I flexed my wrists, testing the ties. Too tight. Too thick. My skin burned.
“Keep her quiet until the drop,” the driver muttered. “And check her arm. She’s got a tracker.”
My stomach dropped.
The bracelet.
The one Doc had slipped on me after the ambush, hidden under the bandage on my inner arm. It wasn’t just for monitoring vitals. It was GPS.
Please, God, let it still be working.
The guy in the passenger seat climbed into the back. Taller than me, broad shoulders, black hoodie pulled up over his face. He crouched beside me and yanked my arm up, fingers digging into the bandage.
I bit down on a scream.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered, tearing the bracelet free. He crushed it under his boot, grinding it into the floor.
Gone.
My last lifeline was shattered.
I felt it then. The exact moment I became untraceable.
The weight of it pressed into my chest until my ribs ached. Not panic. Not yet.
Isolation.
That was the real weapon.
He leaned closer, breath hot and sour. “You’re not as smart as they think you are, red. But you’re gonna make us a lot of money. Or maybe just a good message.”
He stood and walked back to the front. “It’s done.”
The driver grunted. “ETA fifteen minutes.”
I pressed my forehead to the floor, forcing myself to breathe.
Think. Focus.
Don’t panic.
Panic gets you killed.
I wasn’t dead yet.
That meant I still had time.
I just didn’t know how much.
