He guided me down the embankment toward the tree line.

The yellow sign of the diner was visible in the distance, a blurry halo in the falling snow.

“You’re going to prison,” I said.

He stopped walking for a second and looked at me.

He reached up with his gloved hand and brushed some snow off my collar.

“I’m going where I belong,” he said quietly. “But you’re going to be safe.”

“I don’t want you to die in there,” I whispered.

“I won’t,” he said. “But I won’t let them touch you or our child. Leo is looking for us. He knows we have the ledgers.”

We reached the edge of the diner’s parking lot.

The asphalt was covered in a thick layer of untouched white.

The diner looked closed, but a single neon “Open” sign flickered in the window.

Adrian pulled open the heavy glass door, a little brass bell jingling above us.

The warmth of the diner hit us immediately, smelling of old grease and cheap coffee.

An elderly woman with a faded apron looked up from behind the counter.