Sharp.
Burning.
Unrelenting.
Good.
It keeps me focused.
I shouldn’t be on my feet.
That’s what they told me.
Multiple times.
Very clearly.
Didn’t stick.
I shove open the service exit door, stepping out into the cold night air.
Every movement pulls at the stitches in my side.
Every step threatens to drop me to my knees.
I don’t slow down.
I don’t stop.
Because she’s out there.
Alone.
And every second I’m not moving—
is a second closer to losing her.
“She’s heading east.”
The voice comes from the shadows.
Cal Johnson.
Leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for me.
Of course he has.
I don’t even look surprised.
“Tracking how?” I ask.
My voice is rough.
Still recovering.
Still dangerous.
“Not officially,” Cal replies.
