The words on the phone screen still glowed as if they’d been branded into my vision.
My hands were shaking.
I didn’t even remember grabbing my coat, just the cold metal of the elevator buttons beneath my fingers, the echo of Daniel’s voice saying, “Jane, breathe. Just breathe.”
But breathing felt like something for calmer people, people whose worlds weren’t collapsing in real time.
We burst into the storm-drenched night. Rain hammered the city, drumming on car roofs and washing the streets into mirrors of neon.
Daniel’s SUV sat under the glow of a flickering streetlight, engine already running.
He opened the passenger door. “Get in. Now.”
I slid inside. The seatbelt clicked, and before I could speak, the tires screamed against wet asphalt.
For several seconds, we said nothing, jus
