...
The drive across the city felt like moving through thick, black water.
I sat in the back of the car, my fingers digging so hard into my knees I could feel my nails biting into my skin.
Every single street light blurred into a long, sick streak of yellow against the window. My phone was gripped tight in my palm, my thumb constantly hitting the screen to redial Cassian's number, over and over and over again.
'Ringing… ringing… voicemail.'
"Pick up," I whispered into the quiet dark of the car, my chest rising and falling in short, jagged hitches. "Just pick up the fucking phone, Cassian."
My brain was running wild, racing down a hundred terrifying dark alleys. 'What if someone got to him? What if Marceli sent men? What if he's bleeding out on the floor right now, alone, while I'm stuck sitting in traffic?'
