I reached the first fork and didn’t hesitate, turning right into a narrow, unlit corridor of cedar trees.

This path was longer, but it intersected the south exit route at a blind ninety-degree angle.

I could cut him off if I kept my pace under a four-minute mile.

My ankle throbbed with every stride, but the adrenaline masked the worst of the heat.

I kept my hands low and ready, fingers flexing.

Ahead, the sound of snapping twigs echoed through the high hedges.

Vance was panicking, rushing through the dry brush instead of sticking to the stone path.

I slowed my pace, transitioning to a silent heel-to-toe walk as I approached the junction.

The shadow of the south gatehouse was visible through the gaps in the branches.

A black sedan stood idling near the iron perimeter fence, its parking lights casting a dull orange glow on the wet asphalt.

Vance stepped out of the hedge canopy ten yards in front of me.

He was breathing heavily, his white collar unbuttoned and his hair disheveled.

He reached into his breast pocket, his fingers wrapping around the silver drive.