We’ve got less than a day to find Laura, using nothing but Savannah’s shitty handwriting as a clue. “Blue door. Hill Road.” GPS cuts out two miles back, classic Savannah move.
I can practically see Savannah writing it.
Now, eight miles later, Kieran kills the engine.
“Drones,” Ryker says from the backseat, binoculars pressed to his face. “Two patterns, sweeping north-south every forty seconds. Military-grade.”
“Livia wouldn’t sell us out,” he mutters. “But Savannah—”
“Savannah absolutely would,” I cut in. “Question is whether she lied about the safe house existing at all, or just forgot to mention the welcoming party.”
Those damn drones are a problem. If the Architects have eyes in the sky, they’ve known about this place for weeks.
“It’s all planned out,” I say, taking off my j
