LUCAS’S POV
The drive to the hospital was a blur of gray concrete and the rhythmic, aggressive thud of my own heart against my ribs. Beside me, Ava was a statue of silk and suppressed panic. We had left the penthouse in a state of controlled chaos— Margaret’s shrill laughter still echoing in the foyer, and Dr. Thorne’s silent, predatory gaze burned into the back of my neck.
They had followed us but not in the same car because I had drawn that line with a snarl that even the lead auditor didn't care to challenge but they were behind us in a nondescript black sedan. The "ghosts" were now witnesses to the potential collapse of the Carter sun.
"He was fine this morning," I muttered, more to the steering wheel than to Ava. My hands were gripped so tight at ten and two that the leather groane
