Chapter 32.
Kane pulled the car into a red-painted curb right in front of the Bellagio, ignoring the immediate whistle of a valet. He turned off the engine. The silence that followed was different now. It was the silence of a finish line. They looked like absolute wrecks. Kane was covered in desert dust and engine grease, his t-shirt torn at the shoulder. Harper's makeup was smudged, her dress was ruined by cranberry juice and Nevada dirt, and her jaw was a deep, angry violet. But as they looked at each other in the shifting neon light, they looked like gods who had just survived a war. Harper reached out and took the notebook from the dash. With a steady hand, she drew a thick, black line through Number Seven. "We made it," she whispered, her voice cracking. "We made it," Kane echoed. He r
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