The drive to Jamestown felt longer than it was. Maybe it was the tension sitting between all of us, or maybe it was the knowledge that every passing minute brought us closer to a man who could either save us or destroy us. The sky had turned the color of wet concrete, and the wind cut through our coats like it had a personal vendetta — typical Toronto winter, the kind that made even the bravest people reconsider their life choices.
It was Valentine’s weekend, but you’d never know it from the mood inside the car. No roses. No chocolates. No candlelit dinners. Just fear, urgency, and the faint scent of Elias’s stress‑mint gum.
Paloma drove ahead of us, her taillights glowing red in the dusk like two tiny, stubborn hearts refusing to go out. Elias kept glancing at her car — too often, too i
