I nod, but my throat is tight and my mouth tastes of copper.
Candace clears the path, shoulders set, a battering ram in heels. Kyle is on my left. Rider on my right. Darla pressed close behind, firm grip on my arm.
We make it outside, and the brightness hits with the force of a slap. Street noise sounds too sharp. Cars. Voices. The hiss of tires. My skin feels too thin. By the time we reach Candace's car, my hands are shaking so badly I can't work the handle. Candace opens the back door without comment, having already decided I don't need to prove anything. I slide in. The door shuts.
My lungs forget how to work. Heart hammering so fast the beats blur together. My hands go numb, painfully alive, tingling and sharp as pins.
"I'm sorry," I hear myself saying. "I'm sorry, I'm—"
Candace swings in, slams her door, grips the wheel as though it's the only thing keeping her from driving through the café window. "Stop apologizing. You didn't do anything."
Darla climbs in front, twisting immediately. "Sloane, breathe with me. Look at me. In—"
I try. But the air won't go down, and my throat is closing. My father's voice keeps replaying: consequences follow people who forget where they came from.
I shake my head, fingers clawing at my jeans. "He-he said Knox—"
"I know," Candace says, jaw tight.
"He said Alice." The words scrape out raw. "He talked to Alice."
Darla grabs my hand between the seats. "Okay. You're here. You're with us. He's gone."
Candace's eyes flick to the rearview, to Kyle through the window. He's standing outside, phone already to his ear. He catches her glance. Nods once. Knox has been called. The thought should soothe me. Panic doesn't care about logic.
I press my forehead to the seat, eyes squeezed shut. I hate how I can treat a gunshot wound without blinking, but my father can reduce me to this.
Darla stays steady. "Sloane. Look at me. Please."
I force my eyes open.
Her face swims, too close, too bright, but she holds my gaze as though she's pinning me to the present. "Five things you see. Right now."
My lips tremble. "The dash. Your earrings. Candace's hands. The air freshener."
"It's not an air freshener," Candace says. "It's leather conditioner."
"Good," Darla says. "Four things you feel."
"The seat. My ring. Your hand. My pulse."
"Three you hear."
I drag sound into my head. "Cars. People outside. Kyle's voice."
"Two you smell."
Inhaling too sharply, I cough. "Coffee. Candace's… whatever the hell she thinks discipline smells like."
Candace huffs a sound that's almost a laugh.
"One you taste."
"Metal."
Darla nods, eyes shining. "Stay with me."
My breathing is still wrong, but less jagged. Hands still shaking, but mine again.
