Caroline POV
The sky over Chicago was the color of a fresh bruise, a swollen expanse of purple threatening to burst.
It was fitting.
I stood before my mother's grave, the wet grass soaking through the brace on my leg. I had wrapped the cast in a plastic bag, a humiliating necessity that crinkled with every shift of my weight. I leaned heavily on my cane—the crutches were too clumsy for the uneven ground of the cemetery.
I was saying goodbye. Not just to her, but to the version of me she had raised. The good girl. The obedient daughter. The perfect wife.
Blake stood by the car, twenty yards away. He was leaning against the hood of the black SUV, illuminated by the glow of his phone screen. He had offered to drive me. An olive branch, perhaps. Or maybe he just wanted to make sure I didn't run off before the Family dinner on Sunday.
I touched the cold marble of the headstone. It felt like ice against my fingertips.
"I'm going to burn it down, Mom," I whispered, the words snatched away by the wind. "I'm going to build something new from the ashes."
I turned to walk back to the car. The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes.
Blake looked up as I approached. He didn't offer an arm to help me. He just opened the passenger door.
"Get in," he said, his voice flat. "The storm is breaking."
I was halfway into the seat, maneuvering my stiff leg, when his phone rang.
The ringtone was specific. A soft, melodic chime that cut through the howl of the wind.
He froze. He looked at the screen.
He answered it immediately.
"Ari?" His tone shifted instantly, softening into panic. "What's wrong?"
I paused, one leg inside the car, the broken one still on the pavement.
He listened, his face tightening.
"A flat tire? Where are you?"
He looked at me. Then he looked at the darkening sky. Then he looked back at the phone.
"I can't send a soldier, Ari. You're on the South Side. It's neutral territory, but it's dangerous at night. I'm twenty minutes away."
He hung up.
He looked at me. There was no apology in his eyes, only the frantic calculation of a man obsessed.
"Caroline, get out of the car."
"Excuse me?" I asked, though the dread pooling in my stomach told me I knew exactly what he was saying.
"Ariana has a flat tire on 95th. She's alone. I have to go get her."
"You're dropping me off here?" I gestured to the empty road, the rows of gravestones, the storm clouds that were about to burst. "With a broken leg?"
"I'll call you an Uber," he said, already rounding the car to the driver's side. "It'll be here in ten minutes. Wait under the gatehouse awning."
"Blake, it's going to pour."
"She is alone, Caroline!" he snapped, slamming his door. "She is terrified. You are safe here. The dead can't hurt you."
He started the engine.
I stepped back, scrambling to pull my broken leg out of the vehicle just as he threw it into gear.
The tires spun on the wet gravel, spraying mud onto my coat. He didn't look back. The black SUV tore down the cemetery drive, taillights glowing red like demon eyes, racing to save the damsel in distress from a minor inconvenience.
I stood there.
The first drop of rain hit my cheek. Then the second. Then the heavens opened up.
The rain was freezing. It soaked through my coat instantly. I huddled under the small overhang of the locked gatehouse, shivering, clutching my phone.
No signal.
The storm was interfering with the reception. I couldn't call an Uber. I couldn't call Bridget.
I was alone in the dark, miles from home, crippled and abandoned.
I started to walk. I had to get to the main road to find a signal.
Step. Drag. Pain. Step. Drag. Pain.
Headlights appeared in the distance. A truck, moving too fast for the slick conditions.
I raised my hand, waving my cane, trying to flag them down.
The truck swerved. The brakes locked. The screech of tires on wet asphalt was a sound that ripped through my soul.
I tried to move. I tried to jump back.
But my broken leg wouldn't cooperate. It anchored me to the spot.
The headlights consumed my vision. White, blinding light.
And then, impact.
