I pressed the button on the steering wheel, cutting the call.

I stepped on the gas, the SUV racing into the dark, wet night.

The wipers scraped against the windshield, struggling to clear the deluge.

I kept both hands tight on the steering wheel.

My knuckles were white, and my shoulders ached from the tension.

Beside me, Mara pressed a hand against her side, her breathing shallow and ragged.

“You’re bleeding again,” I said, looking at her reflection in the dark side window.

“I’ll survive,” Mara muttered, her voice barely louder than the hum of the tires on the wet asphalt.

“Just keep driving.”

We crossed the state line into Delaware, the highway a blur of yellow lane markers and red brake lights.

The rain didn’t let up.

It felt like the sky was trying to wash the entire coast away.

I knew the route by heart, even though I hadn’t driven it in fifteen years.

My father had bought the Maryland property when I was seven, calling it our retreat.

Now I knew it was just another perimeter, another layer of his elaborate defense.