The Flight
The car sped down the coastal road, dawn barely breaking over the horizon.
Sebastian's hands were steady on the wheel, but his jaw was tight. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked to the rearview mirror searching for headlights that weren't there yet.
Isabella sat beside him, fingers tangled in the hem of her coat. The silence was a living thing between them, heavy and restless.
"Where are we going?" she asked finally.
"Zurich first," he replied. "Then Geneva."
"Geneva?" Her voice trembled. "That's where"
"Yes." His knuckles whitened. "Where it all started."
Outside, the waves smashed against the cliffs. Inside, her pulse kept pace with the thunder of the tires.
"Sebastian," she said softly, "you saw that message. It said the child is the key."
He didn't look at her. "I won't let them touch you. Or the baby."
She turned to the window, fighting tears. "You can't keep promising that when the world you built is the one chasing us."
