MIKE
The digital clock on the sleek dashboard of the sports car flickered to 2:42 AM, casting a faint blue glow over the dark leather interior. Outside, the empty state highway was a blur of shadows and thick, low-hanging fog, but inside the cabin, the only sound was the low, steady purr of the high-performance engine.
And the soft, rhythmic sound of Eloise’s breathing.
I glanced sideways for a split second, my hands tightening instinctively on the steering wheel. The fierce, sharp-tongued girl who had just seamlessly scaled a twelve-foot brick wall and dismantled a Westbridge security lock was completely dead to the world. She had crumbled into the passenger seat the moment we hit the main road, the massive adrenaline crash finally pulling her under. Her 5'9" frame was curled awkwa
