The drive back feels endless.
Red lights blur past me. Sirens scream somewhere behind, then ahead, then everywhere at once, but none of them matter. My hands grip the wheel so hard my knuckles ache, tendons screaming with the strain. I do not loosen my hold. If I let go even for a second, I am not sure what I might do. Every second stretches, distorts, becomes something sharp and unbearable, like time itself is resisting me.
She should not have been alone.
That thought repeats in my head with brutal precision. Over and over. Louder than the engine. Louder than my breathing. Louder than the city rushing past my windows. I replay every choice, every delay, every moment I convinced myself she was protected enough.
I had promised.
The elevator ride up to the penthouse is torture. The spac
