We descended to the underground parking garage in silence.

The garage was damp and smelled of exhaust and cold concrete.

A black government SUV sat idling near the exit, its tailpipe emitting small white clouds of steam into the chilly air.

The driver, a young army sergeant, immediately stepped out and opened the rear door for me.

“Get some rest, Tessa,” Naomi said, standing by the door.

“I’ll handle the paperwork with the clerk and call you as soon as the passport is surrendered.”

“Thank you, Naomi,” I said.

I climbed into the back seat, sinking into the dark leather.

The door closed with a heavy, solid thunk, shutting out the noise of the garage.

The driver pulled out of the garage and into the bright, cold afternoon sunlight of Alexandria.

The trees along the parkway were bare, their gray branches scratching against a pale blue sky.

I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, watching the city pass by.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting a text from the nurse on duty in the maternity ward.