—Alec—

My fist curled tight on my thigh as my convoy tore through DC streets. The thought of losing Mama Emelda left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I kept checking the time again and again, as if staring at it could somehow hold the world still until I reached her.

Sweat pricked the back of my neck despite the car AC blasting through the vents—anxiety had its own thermostat.

“Faster!” I barked at the driver.

The car sped forward, but to me, it crawled like molasses. In my helplessness, I ...