Opal's POV
The road twisted like a snake ahead of them, narrow and cracked from years of neglect. Tall pines lined both sides like silent guards, their tops swaying in the wind as if they knew something terrible loomed just ahead.
Forrest had his window rolled down halfway, sunglasses still on despite the moonlight, and was humming the Mission: Impossible theme under his breath as he drove. Badly. Recklessly.
"Do you have to drift around every corner?" Opal asked, one hand braced against the dashboard.
"I'm adding cinematic flair," he said, flicking on the high beams with flair that should have come with a warning label. "If we're going to piss off Ash and break all the rules, we're doing it with style."
"Please don't kill us in the name of style."
"No promises."
Opal was just opening her mouth to ask him to slow down when it hit her—like a mental knock on the door.
Kael.
His voice slipped into her mind gently at first, but urgent beneath the calm.
"Where are you?"
