Alyssa

We sit in the car, parked beneath the flickering lights of a gas station that looks like it's two seconds from giving out entirely. It's 2 a.m., freezing outside, and the only reason I'm not shivering is because Niko's got the heater blasting like he's trying to cook us. 

Mason steps out to meet his "source," and I try not to stare too long at the gray minivan pulling in behind a blacked-out sedan. It's an older model—scratched, dented, and leaning like it's been ...