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I hang up and stare at the phone before dropping it onto the rocks. No more calls. No more Cormac. No more fucking Donovan’s.

I walk back in to find Maeve stuffing Conor's books in a backpack. Sarah presses a tin into his hands.

"For the trip," she says, messing up his hair. "Airplane food is shit."

"Sarah!" Maeve glares, but doesn't mean it.

Finn looks at his watch. "It's time to go. We'll take the back roads to the airfield."

I grab our bags. "Two cars. I'll take Maeve and Conor. You follow behind."

Maeve hugs Sarah hard. "Thanks. For everything."

"Shut up." Sarah fights tears. "Just send a postcard from somewhere hot."

Conor hugs her too. "Bye, Aunt Sarah. Your pancakes were good."

"Visit when you're older. I'll make you pancakes every day."

We get in the cars. Conor clutches his backpack in the back seat of Cormac's Audi. Maeve sits next to me.

"Ready?" I ask.

Conor nods from the back. Maeve grabs my hand.

"Drive."

I pull onto the coastal road, Finn right behind us. Dark night, no stars, no moon. Perfect for vanishing.

Ten minutes in, headlights show up behind us. Coming fast. Too fast for this empty road.

"Is that Finn?" Maeve checks the mirror.

"No. Someone else." I floor it. "Hold on."

The car speeds up, pulling alongside. I cut them off.

"Down!" I yell as a gun pokes out their window.

Maeve drags Conor to the floor, covering him with her body. I slam the brakes as bullets crack through our windshield.

Their car flies past, can't stop in time. I crank the wheel, taking us down a dirt track off the main road.

"Anyone hit?" I check the mirror. Finn's still behind us. The other car turns around.

"We're fine," Maeve says, voice tight. "Conor's okay."

The track gets narrow, trees crowding in. This Audi isn't made for this shit, but I push it hard anyway. If we're struggling, they will too.

A sharp turn comes up. I take it too fast. We skid, crash through bushes and hit a tree. Hard, but not hard enough for airbags.

"Out. Now." I grab my gun from the glove box. "Into the trees."

Maeve pulls Conor out. His face is white, but he's not crying. Tough little man.

We run into the woods as headlights hit our wrecked car. Russian voices shout. No sign of Finn.

"This way," I whisper, leading them deeper.