Jax's P.O.V.
The air feels heavy as we drive through the quiet streets, the darkness stretching endlessly around us. Sam stares out the window, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her hoodie. I can tell she’s tired, but neither of us dares suggest stopping anytime soon.
I steal a glance at her. “You okay?”
She nods without looking at me. “Yeah, just... wondering how long we can keep this up.”
Her words hang in the air, a question I’ve been asking myself since we left the motel. Running isn’t a plan, it’s a delay tactic. Sooner or later, they’ll catch up—and when they do, we’ll have to face the music, whether we’re ready or not.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say, more to convince myself than her.
Sam doesn’t respond right away, and I don’t push her. She’s probably thinking about her
