Damien Wolfe
Before the car made a turn, I heard a shot. It was a sharp sound very close. “Down,” I said.
The glass beside me cracked. Aria froze, eyes wide, lips parting like she couldn’t breathe. Another shot hit the back window and shattered it. She screamed, then covered her head with both hands.
I leaned forward. “Drive,” I told the man behind the wheel. He didn’t need more. The car shot forward. Then I looked through the broken glass, trying to find where it came from. One flash of metal on the rooftop. High ground. Professional. Someone was following us. Someone who wanted me dead or her terrified.
“Are you hit?” I asked.
She shook her head. Couldn’t speak. Her hands were still shaking, gold fabric torn near her thigh.
The car turned again. I pulled my gun and waited for anoth
