Adrian did not waste a second.

He slammed the vehicle into drive and accelerated down the dark road.

He left the other car behind in the heavy spray of our tires.

I sat in the passenger seat, my heart racing.

I picked up my phone, which had gone silent.

There was a single missed call from an unregistered number.

Below it was a new text message.

My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the device.

I opened the message.

It was a photograph.

The image showed a dark hallway, illuminated only by a streetlamp outside.

I recognized the wallpaper instantly.

It was my sister Clara’s apartment in Lincoln Park.

Below the photo, there was a single line of text.

*She has a very nice apartment, Emily. It would be a shame if she had to leave it early.*

“Emily?” Adrian asked.

He darted his eyes between the road and my face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It is Clara,” I whispered.

My voice sounded small and hollow.

“What about her?” Adrian’s voice was sharp.

“They are at her place,” I said.