Conrad.

The car ate the dark road in silence.

Atlas drove with both hands locked on the wheel, eyes flicking to the mirror every few seconds like he expected the night itself to give chase. Leah rode shotgun with her leg propped on the dashboard and a pistol resting in her lap. In the back seat Travis slumped against the window, breathing shallow, his face the color of old paper.

And beside me, Skylar.

Not touching me. That was the worst part.

She sat with her hands pressed ...