ELENA’S POV
The car smelled wrong.
It took me a minute to realize that was what had set my nerves on edge…..not the silence, not the way the city slid past too smoothly outside the tinted windows, but the smell.
Too clean.
Not leather and dust and old coffee like every other government vehicle I’d ever been shoved into. This one smelled faintly of juice and something sharp beneath it, like antiseptic trying to cover something up.
Luca slept against my chest, worn out from crying, his small fist still knotted in my sweater like he didn’t trust the world not to take him if he let go.
I didn’t blame him.
The man in the passenger seat hadn’t spoken since we pulled away from the station. Late thirties, close-cropped hair, broad neck. His jacket said Marshal Service, but it hung on him li
