The moment Liam turned his back to close the van door, something primal and reckless surged through me. It wasn’t bravery. It wasn’t strategy. It was pure, unfiltered panic wearing the flimsy disguise of determination. His silhouette blocked the dim warehouse light for a heartbeat, and in that tiny sliver of time, I saw my chance.
And I took it.
I launched myself forward with the chaotic energy of someone who had absolutely no idea what they were doing but was committed to doing it loudly. My feet slapped against the concrete floor, my breath tore out of me in ragged bursts, and my arms — still zip‑tied behind me — flapped uselessly like decorative accessories.
I wasn’t running with grace.
I wasn’t running with silence.
I wasn’t running with intelligence either, as it seems.
I wa
