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He was alive.

I was alive.

Every inch of me hurt, but I was breathing. My hand went to my stomach. Glass littered everything, but the only blood came from shallow scrapes and cuts.

I took another breath, my lungs protesting the smoke as I turned to look at Pavel.

He was unconscious, his head slumped to the side with a bleeding cut on his forehead.

The driver's side door hung wide open, twisted metal gaping like a wound.

When had that happened?

Brushing at the deflating airbags to get them out of my way so I could take a better look at where we'd landed and how we might get out of this situation, I stifled a scream when I realized what I was seeing.

A figure in a tailored black coat stood over the wreckage, his gaze methodically scanning the destruction.

Ice shot through my veins as his eyes found mine.

"Help," I tried to call out, praying he worked for Pavel's family—or was a first responder.

He said nothing. Just pointed.

Three more men materialized at the opening of the destroyed door, their hands already reaching for Pavel.

"No," I croaked. "What are you doing?"

They ignored my protest completely. I grabbed Pavel's shirt with desperate fingers, but they yanked him away, the fabric ripping in my grip.

They hauled his unconscious body up the smallembankment to the road above, then vanished into the night like ghosts.

Shouts echoed in the darkness. Engines roared to life.

Then silence.

Who were these people?

Where had they taken my husband?

Tears blurred my vision as I choked on the smoke pouring from the engine and filling the cabin.

The world tilted dangerously, and my eyelids grew heavy.

Maybe if I just closed them for a moment, I'd wake up back in our bed—warm, safe, and whole.

No. I couldn’t. I had to stay alert. I had to get out of this car.

For my baby.

For our baby.

The screech of tires on the pavement above jolted me back to reality.

This wasn't a dream.

This was war.

Someone had forced us off the road and grabbed my husband.