Elena’s POV

Rain drummed on the safehouse roof, a steady beat that matched the pounding in my chest.

The air inside was stuffy, smelling like old paint and the sharp, bitter coffee Chloe had brewed to keep us awake.

My bandaged hand ached, the stitches pulling tight every time I moved, and the tiny audio file on my phone, the whispering voice of Grace saying, “Do it now, Hayes cleared it”, felt like a ticking bomb in my pocket.

Forty-eight hours.

That’s all I had left to prove I ...