For one second we were nose to nose but we whizzed past in a blur.
Sirens doubled behind us.
“That’s not ideal.” Kyrill’s voice was tense.
“No,” I agreed.
“Two minutes,” the driver said.
We pushed harder, the van’s engine howling as we pushed it into the night. A hard turn into a dirt cut-off, barely visible from the road and the van skidded to a stop.
“Out.”
We couldn’t slow down. We couldn’t have, even if we wanted to. My breath came in harsh pants as the airsliced into my throat with every breath, our boots hitting uneven dirt instead of concrete for the first time in years.
The ground dipped and shifted beneath our feet, the gravel skidding and the mud catching. Although the terrain was unfamiliar, it wasn’t disorientating.
Not tonight. Tonight, everything was sharp. Focused.
Alive.
Somewhere behind us, voices carried — shouts, radios crackling, the distant, rising pitch of something going wrong, just a little too late to stop it.
“Move,” Kyrill muttered beside me, even though I definitely didn’t need the reminder.
We broke through the tree line into the clearing where a second vehicle was waiting with its engine running and headlights off. At first, the silhouette of the vehicle looked wrong — too large and conspicuous — until my brain caught up.
A truck. Red paint shone in the moonlight, and ‘Berenson Trucking’ was stamped across the side. Otherwise, it was completely ordinary and unremarkable.
I yanked open the passenger door and clambered in; my hands were still buzzing faintly from adrenaline and the residual echo of violence sat just under my skin. Kyrill hauled himself up after me, the cab dipping slightly under his weight before he slammed the door shut behind him.
The driver, a big bear of a man with a thick beard, didn’t look at us or ask any questions. He simply shiftedgears and the truck rolled forward, smooth and controlled.
Like nothing about this was time-sensitive.
Like we weren’t minutes removed from a prison already on the hunt for two of its inmates.
I forced myself to breathe, slow and deep, even though my pulse was hammering against my ribs. Through the windshield, the road stretched out — dark and empty. Behind us, a flash of light flickered briefly through the trees, followed by another.
The van was going up in flames, the gasoline catching fast. Hunter had been precise about his instructions. No hesitation, no half-measures. By the time anyone reached it, it would be too late to salvage anything useful.
The evidence turned to smoke, erasing any trace of our presence. A siren grew louder in the distance, then split — one veering off and the other continuing straight ahead.
There were too many variables now. Too many directions we could have taken.
Good.
I shifted slightly in my seat and rolled my shoulder, where tension had become lodged deep in the muscle. My hands still felt wired. Like they hadn’t caught up to the fact of us no longer being inside.
That it had worked.
Kyrill leaned heavily back against the seat, bracing himself against the door with one arm, his chest risingand falling faster than usual. Even for him, even with his control, there was a crack in his composure — just enough to show through.
“About fucking time,” he muttered, his voice rougher than before.
I huffed out something that might have been a laugh and dragged a hand down my face before letting my head fall back against the headrest. The leather was warm from the day’s heat and the air around us was filled with the faint smell of dust and engine oil.
Outside, the prison was already disappearing behind us, swallowed by the darkness. I turned my head slightly and caught one last glimpse of the flashing lights fading into the horizon.