I turned and ran toward the nearest subway entrance, praying I wasn’t too late.

The stairs leading down into the transit station were wet and slippery.

My boots skidded on the concrete, but I caught myself on the metal handrail.

The air below was thick with the smell of damp coats and electricity.

I swiped my transit card and pushed through the turnstile.

My eyes searched the electronic arrival board hanging from the ceiling.

The next train toward the northern suburbs was arriving in two minutes.

I squeezed the blue binder tighter against my side.

I had to reach the airfield before Daniel’s private plane could clear the runway.

I stood on the yellow safety line of the platform, my heart hammering against my ribs.

A gust of warm, stale wind announced the approaching train.

The headlights cut through the dark tunnel, throwing long shadows on the tiles.

The metal wheels screeched to a halt, and the double doors slid open.

I stepped into the crowded car, my eyes scanning the faces of the passengers.

Nobody looked back at me.