HE CRAWLED INTO A DINER BLEEDING AND CLUTCHING HIS TWINS — I DIDN’T KNOW I’D JUST SAVED THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN IN BOSTON

Midnight came with a torrential downpour, washing the neon glow of South Boston into a blur of reds and blues. We didn't take an extraction vehicle. Kaelen deemed it too risky; Declan would be watching the borders, waiting for a fleet of black SUVs. Instead, we took my 2012 Honda Civic. It had a cracked windshield, a faulty heater, and a rusted bumper, making it the perfect urban camouflage.

I drove. Kaelen sat in the passenger seat, a heavy trench coat concealing his bandages and his weaponry. The twins were strapped securely into the back, sedated with a mild, pediatrician-approved antihistamine Kaelen had in his go-bag to keep them from crying during the escape.

“Take the back roads toward I-93,” Kaelen instructed, his eyes constantly scanning the side mirrors. “Don't speed. Don't look at the police cruisers. You are just a tired waitress driving home in the rain.”

My knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Every set of headlights that appeared in my rearview mirror felt like a sniper’s laser. The rain lashed against the windshield, the wipers squeaking rhythmically.

“Where exactly are we going?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Cape Cod,” he replied, checking his phone—a new, untraceable burner. “I have a property in Truro. It’s registered under a shell corporation, deep in the woods, overlooking the ocean. It’s fortified, fully stocked, and off the grid. Declan doesn't know it exists.”

We made it out of the city limits without incident, but the tension in the car only thickened. Kaelen was burning up. I could feel the heat radiating off his body from the passenger seat. His breathing was becoming shallow, his skin pale and clammy.

“Kaelen, you have a fever,” I said, glancing at him. “You need antibiotics now.”

“Drive,” he gritted out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Keep driving, Ella.”

Two hours later, we crossed the Sagamore Bridge onto the Cape. The roads grew darker, winding through dense pine forests and coastal fog. Just as we passed through Wellfleet, a black Ford Explorer suddenly pulled out from a side road, its high beams blinding me through the rearview mirror.

“Kaelen,” I gasped, my heart leaping into my throat. “There’s an SUV. It’s tailing us.”

Kaelen forced his eyes open, twisting in his seat to look out the back window. The Explorer accelerated, closing the distance until it was riding our bumper.

“Take the next left. Fast,” Kaelen ordered, drawing his gun.

I slammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel, throwing the Honda onto a narrow, unpaved logging road. The car skidded in the mud, tires spinning wildly before catching traction. Behind us, the Explorer took the turn too wide, crashing through a row of wooden barricades but recovering quickly.

“They found us,” Kaelen growled. He rolled down his window, letting the freezing rain whip into the car. “Keep your head down!”

He leaned out the window and fired three deafening shots into the darkness. The crack of the gun in the enclosed space made my ears ring. Behind us, the Explorer swerved. One of Kaelen’s bullets had caught their front left tire. The SUV spun out of control, slamming violently into a massive oak tree with a crunch of metal and glass.

I didn't stop driving. I pushed the sputtering Honda to its absolute limit, tearing through the forest roads until the wreckage of the SUV was miles behind us. My chest heaved as I fought back tears of pure terror.