“They’re coming from the lobby,” Marcus said, his eyes scanning the intersection ahead. “We need the service stairs.”

Damon kept his hand on my lower back, guiding me with a firm, steady pressure.

We ran down the narrow utility hall, the air smelling of ozone and damp concrete.

Marcus threw open a heavy fire door, and the freezing air of the Michigan night hit my face like a slap.

We emerged into the alleyway behind the clinic, the snow falling in thick, heavy flakes.

A black SUV sat idling in the shadows, its headlights off.

“Get in,” Damon said, opening the rear door for me.

I scrambled inside, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Damon climbed in right behind me, slamming the door shut as Marcus took the driver’s seat.

The tires spun on the ice for a fraction of a second before gripping the asphalt and pulling us out into the street.

I looked back through the rear window, but the dark alley was already swallowed by the snow.

“Are you hurt?” Damon asked, his hand finding mine in the darkness of the backseat.