The black sedan loomed closer, its grill almost touching my bumper.

In the backseat, Lily stirred, her small head shifting against her travel pillow.

I turned onto the exit ramp for downtown Seattle, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The sedan didn’t follow; it accelerated past, its dark tinted windows hiding the driver’s face.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“We’re safe,” I muttered to myself, steering the SUV into the secure underground parking garage of my apartment building.

The heavy concrete gate rolled down behind us, sealing out the wet night.

I carried Lily up to the quiet, half-empty apartment.

The rooms smelled of fresh paint and lavender wood polish.

I tucked her into the small bed, smoothing her damp hair away from her forehead.

“Are we going back to the big house, Mommy?” she whispered, her eyes half-closed.

“No, sweetie,” I said, kissing her cheek. “We’re staying here now.”

“Good,” she murmured, turning onto her side. “It’s quieter here.”

I closed her door softly and walked into the living room.

The city lights flickered through the rain-streaked floor-to-ceiling windows.