The hum of the motorcycle broke the silence, low and guttural, like a predator waiting to pounce. Claus adjusted Mia’s helmet, tightening the strap beneath her chin with deliberate care. His hands lingered a second longer, his eyes scanning her face.

“You good?”

Mia nodded, though her pulse betrayed her, hammering against her throat. “I’ll manage.”

“Not good enough,” Claus muttered, tugging at her borrowed jacket. He checked her gloves, her boots, making sure every strap was ...