He tossed the device into the dark, watching it disappear into a snowdrift.

“No signals,” he said, rolling the window back up. “No trackers.”

I looked at him, his face illuminated only by the faint green light of the dashboard.

His jaw was set in a tight, hard line.

“Did you hurt the guard?” I asked.

“He’s alive,” Adrian said shortly.

We drove in silence for over two hours, leaving the city lights behind.

The highway vanished, replaced by narrow, two-lane roads lined with frozen cornfields.

The snow fell heavier now, a solid wall of white that seemed to press against the windshield.

My back ached, a steady, throbbing pain that made it hard to breathe.

I kept my hand on my stomach, praying the baby would stay quiet.

Finally, Adrian turned off the paved road onto a gravel track.

The SUV bumped violently over deep ruts, the suspension groaning.

We stopped in front of a small, dilapidated cabin hidden deep within a grove of pines.

The roof was weighed down with a thick blanket of snow.

“We’re here,” Adrian said, turning off the engine.