e Shaff

burn my lungs, but it cleared th

g my back pressed to the cold cinderblock wall of the

nch of boots on gravel and the guttural roar of motorcycle engin

al dumpsters. Counting three strides past the dented beer kegs, my fingers found a

osed around c

ars in untraceable cash, a burner flip-phone, a spring-

learned very quickly never to be

, loaded with Dale's drunken texts and two years of digital servitude, we

t beam swept across

! Dale said bring he

y breathing until my pulse slowed to a calm, mechanical rhythm. T

the chain-link fence and crossed into the w

uming 2004 Ford pickup, registered under the alias Sarah Jenkins. Rule

in neutral before popping the clutch and easing onto the back highway without headlights. In the cr

p, bar, and motel across three counties. There

ight

ormations tucked deep into the Blue Ridge foothills, pur

atural wonder: a private geothermal spring rich in

in the alley had torn through my denim jacket, s

avoiding traffic cameras. By the time the horizon began to bleed a pale, brui

led the engine and stepped out into the crisp mountain air. Th

I p

no business being here. Expensive French vetiver cologne, rac

breached m

ilt, and moved soundlessly along the granite path toward the natural rock pool b

moss-covered boulder, my

ming; he was seated in a custom-built, submersibl

ders and a torso covered in intricate black-and-gray ink. Even sitting

, but his head tilted

r someone holding a six-inch blade

baritone, smooth as bour

ed the wheelchair arou

shadowed by dark stubble, high cheekbones, and eyes the color of

k, inked in bleeding Gothic

RL

ammed again

ary, iron-fisted President

m the waist down during a cartel ambush three years ago. The g

ing in my secl

othes, the bloody gash dripping down my

tter lack of panic in his voice was far

my gaze drifted down into

, the unnatural rigidity of his lumbar alignment, and the subtle p

uried deep within my instincts

al cord severanc

hind the boulder. "And you aren't paralyzed, W