Dawn broke cold and silent as Silas kicked the bike into gear. The compound slept behind him; grief rode shotgun. He didn’t look back. Paul was out there, somewhere on a road that was about to run out.
Wind cut at his eyes as he rolled through the gates and onto the empty highway. Asphalt stretched ahead in a thin, merciless line. He pushed the throttle, letting the engine’s growl drown out the ache in his ribs.
But his mind wouldn’t quiet.
No matter how fast he rode, he kept seeing it—
his father’s blood on his hands,
the way Jack’s body jerked,
the way the light drained from his eyes.
A moment carved into bone.
Silas’s grip tightened around the bars until his knuckles burned. Rage wanted the wheel. Grief wanted to take him apart. But something colder sat in his gut—something stea
