*Lena*

Oliver was driving, and I was gripping my seatbelt for dear life as he topped one hundred miles per hour in the rickety truck that definitely was not made for this kind of speed. The barren landscape sped past in a blur, and my stomach clenched as I forced my eyes to stay open and on the road.

Normally I would have asked him what the hell he was doing driving so fast, but I didn’t care. We’d make it to Crimson Creek within the hour at this rate. ...