The brake lights ahead were a river of red, bleeding into the wet asphalt. Traffic on the Long Island Expressway was grinding to a halt. It was the perfect excuse, but Dawn needed more than traffic. She needed a medical emergency.
She pulled down the visor and slid the cover off the vanity mirror. The light automatically flicked on, illuminating her face.
It was strange to see herself like this. Twenty-four years old. Her skin was pale, translucent almost, without the gray undertone of malnutrition. But it was her eyes that held her attention. They looked old. They looked like they had seen things that shouldn't exist.
She raised her right hand into the light. She spread her fingers, then curled them into a fist. She did it again. Flexion. Extension. The movements were smooth. The tendons danced under the skin.
She closed her eyes and visualized the procedure for a craniotomy. The steps flowed through her mind like a favorite song. Incision. Flap. Dura. The knowledge was there. The muscle memory was there. They had taken her license, destroyed her reputation, and locked her away, but they couldn't cut the skill out of her brain.
She was still an Asset.
Beside her, Catrina sighed loudly, tapping furiously on her phone screen. "This service is garbage. I can't even load my stories."
Dawn glanced sideways. On Catrina's screen, a chat bubble popped up. The name at the top was Dozier Buckley.
Is the little mouse with you?
Dawn felt a phantom pain in her stomach, a ghost of the ulcers she'd developed during the trial. Dozier. The man who treated bankruptcy like a sport.
She snapped the vanity mirror shut. The plastic click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet cabin.
Catrina jumped. "God, you're jumpy. What is wrong with you? Is it your... thing?"
She meant the anxiety. The family's favorite euphemism for Dawn's existence.
Dawn turned to her. She let her shoulders slump. She allowed her lower lip to tremble just slightly. It was a performance she had perfected to survive the guards in Block D.
"I don't feel well," Dawn whispered. "The air... it feels thin."
Catrina rolled her eyes, but she shifted away, pressing herself against the door as if anxiety were contagious. "Don't start this, Dawn. Not tonight. The Montgomery name can't afford another one of your public episodes. Do you have your pills?"
Dawn reached into her clutch. Her fingers brushed the orange bottle of Xanax. She didn't need the pills. She needed the prop.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Dawn said, adding a wet cough for effect.
O'Malley looked back again. "Miss Dawn? You look pale."
"I can't breathe," she gasped, clutching her chest. She leaned forward, putting her head between her knees. It wasn't entirely a lie. The proximity to Catrina, the memories, the looming threat of Dozier-it all made the air feel heavy.
"O'Malley, there's an accident ahead," Dawn said, her voice muffled by her knees. "I saw the alert on my phone."
"I see the slowdown, Miss," O'Malley said.
Dawn's mind raced. Her sources had confirmed it an hour ago: a high-value target was being moved tonight, and a rival firm had contracted a team to intercept. The resulting 'accident' on a quiet service road was the linchpin of her entire strategy. She had to get there.
She sat up, gasping dramatically. "I need to get out. I need air. Or I need to go home."
"We are not stopping on the highway!" Catrina shrieked.
"Turn around," Dawn commanded. The steel in her voice slipped through the cracks of her victim persona.
Catrina blinked. "What?"
"Take me back to the Hamptons house," Dawn said, gripping the leather armrest until her knuckles turned white. "I'm going to throw up. Do you want vomit on your vintage Valentino?"
Catrina looked at Dawn, then at her own dress. The threat was physical and immediate.
"Fine!" Catrina threw her hands up. "O'Malley, find an exit! We'll drop her at the estate and then you can drive me back. I'll just be fashionably late. Honestly, the drama."
O'Malley nodded. "Yes, Miss."
He signaled and merged into the right lane, heading for the upcoming exit ramp. As the car tilted, turning away from the city, away from Dozier, away from her old fate, Dawn felt a click in the universe.
She had changed the path.
But she wasn't just running away. She was running toward something.
