(KRYSTAL'S POV)
Sandra's hands are tight on the wheel, her knuckles pale under the dim dashboard light. I watch the city flicker by, hoping to distract myself with the lights and the billboards, but all I can think is that I'm driving straight into the mouth of a man who pointed a gun at my head less than twenty-four hours ago.
My stomach twists. It's not fear exactly, more like a pulse sitting right under my ribs. The kind of feeling that makes you question whether you've got nerves of steel or a death wish.
Sandra hasn't said a word since we've been in this car. The only sound in the car is the low hum of the engine and the occasional whoosh of another car speeding past. I glance at her, and she's doing that thing again—flicking her eyes toward me every few seconds, like there's something on the tip of her tongue but she's too polite or too calculating to say it.
"So…" Sandra finally says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Krystal."
I turn my head, arching a brow. "Yeah?"
