Cruz:
The road blurred under my tires, a long stretch of cracked pavement and desert silence. South Texas heat shimmered in waves off the asphalt, even in the early hours of morning. Knox rode a few clicks ahead, his back straight, head low, the thrum of his bike constant and steady.
Everything around us was too quiet.
Too still.
Something was wrong.
I’d been trying to shake the feeling since we passed the county line. It curled in the pit of my stomach like smoke—thick, sour, unshakable. The same feeling I’d get before a job went sideways. Before bullets flew. Before someone bled.
But this time, it wasn’t the job that had me wound tight.
It was her.
Avery.
She’d looked like she was holding something back when I left. Eyes too wide. Smile too soft. She was always the calm one. The
