The driver’s hands tightened on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The quiet hum of the engine filled the car as they sped toward the mansion.
Lucy sat in the back seat, pressed against the corner like she could somehow melt into the leather and disappear. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white.
Her heart still thudded in her ears, and her breathing came in quick, shallow bursts. She kept replaying the moment, seeing the masked man lean out of the other car, hearing the loud cracks of gunfire, and then Barry’s steady, merciless aim.
Her voice felt stuck in her throat, so she said nothing.
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Miss… we’re here,” he said gently.
Lucy blinked, as if waking from a dream. She dragged her gaze away
