I take the next exit ramp.
It does too.
A cold thread winds through my spine—not fear, but recognition.
Someone is tailingme.
I test the theory.
I change lanes. Slow slightly. Speed up. Take the next turn.
It follows.
My jaw flexes.
I've been followed before. Surveillance. Rivals. Enemies. People who want the Vasiliev name gone. But tonight, with her on that bus, something in the equation feels different.
I don’t know where Zatanna will step into the night.
But I know one thing with absolute certainty:
Whoever is in that sedan won’t get anywhere near her.
The dark sedan is still there. Two cars back. Patient. Matching every move I make.
Not coincidence.
I shift gears and press the accelerator. My car slips out of the line of traffic, sliding past the bus in the next lane. As I overtake it, I glance sideways through the windows.
There.
Zatanna sits halfway down the aisle, head turned toward the glass, staring out into the city. Her shoulders are slumped. She looks small, lost in thought, the earlier fire gone from her face.
Sad.She’s sad.
Something twists in my chest.
I can’t let this reach her.
I push the car harder, racing ahead of the bus, leaving it safely behind in traffic. Once I’m a full block ahead, I make a sharp turn onto a side street.
The sedan follows. I breathe out a sigh of relief.
Now it’s just me and them.
The street opens into a darker industrial stretch, warehouses and shuttered storefronts lining the road. Fewer cars. Less light.
Perfect.My pulse steadies. I slow slightly, giving them confidence.
The sedan closes the distance.
And then I see it.
A glint in the passenger window. The flash comes a split second later.
BANG.
The shot cracks through the night, the sound exploding against the buildings. My instincts take over. I jerk the wheel, swerving hard as something smashes into the rear quarter panel.
