Alyssa

Sunlight spills through the windshield—thick, golden, warm. The kind of light that only exists in old photographs. I glance around, my heart thudding against my ribs like it's trying to warn me.

I don't recognize this neighborhood.

But somehow, I know exactly where we're going.

King's hand closes over mine on the console, his thumb brushing slow, gentle circles over my skin. His hair's cropped shorter now. Neat. Controlled. His beard is dusted with ...