I did not say a word.

The static on the line was thick, humming with the distance of an ocean.

Then, a voice spoke.

It was not Julian, and it was not Vance.

It was a voice I had not heard in three years, a voice that belonged to a dead man.

“Clara,” the voice said, low and urgent. “You need to run right now.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the black screen, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I looked out the back window of the cabin.

Through the darkness and the heavy rain, a pair of headlights flickered at the bottom of the cliff path.

The headlights at the bottom of the path grew brighter, cutting through the silver curtain of rain.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and turned the key in the ignition of the rented sedan.

The engine coughed, then roared to life.

I slammed the shifter into reverse, backing out of the gravel turnout just as the oncoming vehicle rounded the final bend.

It was a black SUV with a dented bumper and blinding high beams.