“Quiet now,” I whispered, holding Mason’s small, cold hand.

Lucas followed close behind, his boots clicking softly on the steps.

We reached the bottom floor and stepped into the humid, exhaust-filled air of the garage.

My old sedan was parked in the back corner, under a flickering fluorescent tube.

I unlocked the doors with the key fob, the high-pitched beep echoing off the concrete pillars.

“Get in, buckle up,” I said.

They climbed into the backseat without another word, their faces pale in the dim light.

I got behind the wheel, threw the folder onto the passenger seat, and started the engine.

The dashboard clock read 2:14 PM.

The custody hearing was scheduled for nine o’clock tomorrow morning.

I backed out of the space and drove toward the exit ramp, my eyes darting to the rearview mirror.

No one was following us yet, but the city felt smaller now, tighter.

I drove to a small, quiet park three miles away from the hospital.

I parked under a dead oak tree, the gray branches scraping against the sky.

“Can we play on the swings?” Mason asked.