Zyron's POV
The rain hadn't stopped since the night we ran. It followed us like a curse, hammering the windshield, blurring the world into a restless smear of gray. The city lights were long gone, replaced by endless stretches of highway that cut through empty fields and fog-drenched hills.
Savvanah sat quietly in the passenger seat, one hand resting over her belly, the other clutching the seatbelt so tight her knuckles had gone pale. She hadn't spoken in hours. Neither had I. The silence between us was heavy—too heavy—and every mile we put behind us only made it harder to breathe.
I gripped the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. "We're almost there," I said finally.
She turned her head slightly, her voice small. "Where?"
"An old safehouse Ryker and I used during college when we needed to get off the grid. No one knows it exists."
Savvanah nodded slowly, but her eyes were distant, lost somewhere between fear and guilt.
