He tapped the horn three times, a sharp warning to the oncoming traffic, and blew through the intersection.

A horn blared behind us, but Arthur did not even look back.

“He was supposed to be here,” I whispered, staring down at Rowan’s face. “Landon was supposed to protect us.”

Arthur kept his eyes locked on the road ahead.

“We will worry about Landon later,” Arthur said. “Right now, you breathe for that boy.”

I blew a soft puff of air onto Rowan’s face, hoping the cool sensation would trigger a deep breath.

He didn’t blink.

His eyelids were half-open, showing only a sliver of dull, unseeing gray.

The truck bounced hard as we transitioned onto Randolph Road, heading toward the city center.

The afternoon traffic was starting to build, a long line of sedans and SUVs sparkling in the North Carolina heat.

Arthur cursed softly under his breath.

He pulled the truck onto the center turn lane, the tires kicking up dust and debris against the undercarriage.

“Arthur, the police,” I warned, clutching Rowan tighter.

“Let them pull me over,” Arthur said. “They’ll just have to escort us.”