Then he lifted his phone, took a picture of the car, and disappeared into the passing crowd.
A chill ran through me.
I climbed into the car and pulled the children close.
As Harold shut the door, Ryan moved forward. “Mariana, wait. Let me help.”
I looked through the tinted window at the man who had once been my husband.
The father of my children.
The son of the woman who had tried to bury me on paper.
“I don’t know yet,” I said, “whether you’re part of my past or part of the danger.”
The car pulled away before he could answer.
Ethan leaned against me. “Mommy, are we safe?”
I kissed his forehead and looked down at the brass key in my hand.
Outside, the city lights blurred into gold.
“I’m going to make sure we are,” I whispered.
But as we turned the corner, a black car slid smoothly out from the curb and followed us into the night.
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