Rafe POV
My chest hammers in my ribs. Every second she doesn’t answer, I feel like I’m losing her. I stumble over debris, branches snapping underfoot.
“MIKAYLA! ANSWER ME!” My voice cracks, raw with fear. The world narrows to her car, the red glow of the taillights mocking me with every step.
I wrench the door open. My heart drops.
She’s limp—hanging upside down, her hair streaked with blood and clinging to her face, the coppery scent hits sharp in my throat. The air is thick with the tang of smoke and burning leaves. Her skin is flushed from hanging too long; a deep gash splits her forehead, blood running into her hair. Tiny shards of glass glint against her cheeks. Natasha dangles beside her, fingers twitching, the ring on her hand scraping the roof with a soft metallic clang.
“Mika
