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The east corridor stretches ahead of me in a long dark ribbon of polished floor and shadowed portraits, every face on the wall watching like they know exactly what I’ve done. I press my hand against the gun hidden in my apron pocket. The key fob digs into my palm. Nathaniel’s coordinates are burned into my head.

Bay four.

Black Range Rover.

Lower service road.

No main gate.

Do not stop.

Do not answer anyone unless it’s him.

My lungs burn by the time I reach the service door to the east garage. I stop with one hand on the handle, breath coming too fast, heart pounding so hard I feel it behind my eyes.

I press my ear to the door.

Nothing.

I open it and slip inside.

The garage smells like concrete and expensive machines. Rows of vehicles sit beneath dim overhead lights.

Bay four.

I spot the Range Rover almost immediately.

Black. Unmarked. My fingers shake as I lift the fob.

The lights flash once.

I hurry toward it, feet too loud on the concrete. I keep expecting Charlotte or Tiffany to step from behind a pillar. Audrey to rise from the dead.

I reach the driver’s side and grab the handle.

“Ella.”

I whirl so fast my shoulder hits the door as I pull the gun out of my pocket.

Hazel stands at the edge of the garage, one hand braced against the wall, face pale in the dim light. Her cardigan is torn at the sleeve. Dirt clings to her hem. Leaves are tangled in her hair.

My heart slams against my ribs. “Hazel.”

She drops her gaze to the gun. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

I lower it, but not all the way.

Nathaniel’s warning flashes through my head. Use on anyone. Even Hazel.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

Her mouth trembles. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m leaving.”

Hazel looks toward the garage entrance, toward the dark slice of driveway visible beyond it. “Nathaniel told you to run.”

I tighten my grip on the gun. “Were you listening?”