The driver gets out, but I don't move.
The lodge looks even bigger up close.
Too polished for something that's supposed to be safe. The kind of place wealthy people call a retreat. The kind of place people come to when they want to disappear.
Or when someone makes that choice for them.
Movement near the entrance catches my attention.
One of the guards shifts position, speaking quietly into a radio clipped to his shoulder. His eyes sweep over the SUV.
Something in my chest tightens.
The driver opens my door before I can decide whether I actually want to get out.
Cold morning air slaps against my face.
"Out."
Not harsh.
Not kind.
Just final.
I hesitate.
Because stepping out makes this real in a way the endless car ride somehow didn't.
Still, I swing my legs onto the gravel and
