Colt’s POV
The black car didn’t move. It just idled there like it had all the time in the world to haunt us. I kept Krystal close, my eyes scanning the dim street for more shadows that might be breathing. Whoever they were, they weren’t ready to show their face. Yet.
I memorized the license plate with one glance, my brain cataloguing everything I could. The side mirror. The dent on the back fender. The faint glint of something behind the windshield — binoculars? A scope?
“Get in the car,” I said quietly to Krystal.
She hesitated, her grip on the second letter tightening. “Colt—”
“Now.”
She obeyed. I circled the front, never turning my back to the street, and slid behind the wheel. As soon as I pulled out, the black car didn’t follow.
But that didn’t mean we weren’t being followed.
