I started the engine.

The radio came on, playing a soft classical tune.

I reached for the gear shift, but stopped.

My phone, resting in the cup holder, lit up again.

It was a text message from Matthew.

*He knows,* the message read.

*He knows about the agreement. He is looking for you.*

I stared at the screen, my heart beating a little faster against my ribs.

I put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb, merging into the wet traffic.

The highway to the north was waiting.

I drove through the night.

The rain followed me out of Catalonia, turning into a heavy, blinding downpour as I crossed the high plains of Castile.

By the time the road began to twist down into the valleys of Galicia, the sky was a bruised gray.

I stopped once for fuel at a deserted station near Ponferrada.

The air there smelled of wet coal and pine.

My hands were stiff on the steering wheel when I finally turned onto the narrow coastal road that led to the estate.