The display glowed in the dark cabin.

He was tracking Rowan’s signal.

A small red dot was moving rapidly away from our position, heading deep into the northern hills.

Behind it, three larger blue dots were trailing.

“Tessa’s security team is taking the bait,” Marcus said quietly.

“They think he has Clara,” I said.

“They think they have him cornered,” Marcus corrected. “But Rowan knows those hills better than anyone.”

I looked out the window at the rain lashing against the glass.

The city lights were a blur of red and white in the distance.

I prayed that Rowan was as fast as he used to be.

I prayed that Clara was still warm against his chest.

The SUV turned off the highway onto a winding, private road lined with high concrete walls.

At the end of the road stood a sterile, three-story brick building.

A single light burned above the double glass doors of the entrance.

Two men in tactical gear stood under the awning, their rifles held low.

They watched us approach, their hands near their weapons until they recognized the vehicle.