The dashboard light kept blinking like a heartbeat gone wrong.
Luna stared at the red dot pulsing on her GPS screen — her car’s location tracker, active and transmitting.
“What the hell—” she muttered, slamming the side of the monitor. It didn’t stop.
She yanked the glove compartment open, dug through the wiring beneath the dash, and found it — a coin-sized chip lodged near the ignition relay. Not factory-made. Custom. Expensive.
The kind of tech Cross Tech built.
Her stomach twisted. “No way.”
She ripped the tracker out and hurled it into the darkness outside. The moment it hit the asphalt, a faint red light blinked three times before going dark.
Then silence.
Except for her heartbeat. Except for the whisper of engines — faint, distant, not hers.
She gripped the steering wheel ti
