Viv:
I got the text.
30 minutes out.
My stomach dropped. The breath I exhaled felt like it took half my soul with it. Every second after that was like the countdown to a bomb.
It was go time.
I stood from the edge of the motel bed, the musky mattress still shaped like my curled-up frame. My spine cracked when I stretched—too many hours of tense stillness, too little sleep.
The room reeked of cigarettes and mildew. My gun was still under the pillow. I grabbed it, checked the silencer, and tucked it back into place. I slung my jacket over my shoulder and did one last sweep of the place.
I popped the car door and got in, shutting it with a soft thud that felt louder than it should. This was it.
The sun had barely cracked the horizon, and the sky was this bruised blue, bleeding into or
