The countdown had begun. The air in the apartment no longer felt good; it felt like a pressurized wall, the tension building with every tick of the clock. Thursday had arrived, and with it, the suffocating realization that their window of absolute freedom was closing.
Marcus and Chloe were sprawled across the oversized velvet sofa in the living room, the city skyline shimmering behind them like a field of fallen stars. They weren't talking about the future anymore. The future was a cliff they were both sprinting toward. Instead, they spoke in the low, urgent tones of people who knew their time was borrowed.
"Forty-two hours," Chloe whispered, her head resting on his shoulder, her fingers tracing the veins on his forearm.
"Don't count," Marcus replied, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Count
