[ELARA'S POV]
The city blurred past the windows. Lights streaking. Buildings rising and falling like waves.
I couldn't stop shaking.
Damian's arm was around me. Solid. Real. But my hands wouldn't stop trembling against my belly where our daughter kept moving — small rolls, reassuring kicks, proof she was still okay.
Still safe.
"Pull over." My voice came out hoarse. Raw from screaming earlier.
Marcus's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "We need to keep moving until—"
"Pull over. Now."
Something in my tone made him obey. He took the next exit. Found a dark side street. Parked under a broken streetlight.
The engine ticked in the silence.
I turned to Damian.
Blood had soaked through his shirt. Dark. Wet. Spreading from where his ribs were cracked. His knuckles were torn open — raw meat and split skin where he'd punched concrete, punched men, punched his way to me.
"Let me see." I reached for his shirt.
"I'm fine."
