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Dawson barely lasted five minutes on the road before he passed out again, layered with the blankets I’d grabbed. I hadn’t had time to re-dress his wound or stuff food down his face; he’d been too busy barking out orders as best he could until he passed out. But before he did, he’d made a couple of things very clear. Don’t go home . Don’t go to anyone the AD could be watching . These were great ideas in theory, but not in real life, a point I would have argued had he not looked like death. He didn’t need a debate—he needed rest.

Or a hospital.

As I wound my way through the familiar hills of southern Ohio, I racked my brain for a way to get him medication. Every time I dared to reach over and brush the back of my hand across his face, I cringed at how hot his flesh was—how the infection was raging. I needed to get him antibiotics, and fast.

The gas gauge on the truck was alarmingly close to E, which forced me to stop at a pump with a convenience store. Using the cash I’d found in Dawson’s wallet, I filled up, then ventured into the store to pay, my hood up to shelter my face. Behind the counter, I saw two burner phones hanging on the wall, and I remembered the ones we’d gotten from Wilson.

When I jumped into the truck, the sun rising on the horizon, Dawson didn’t even flinch.

I needed a plan, and I needed it now.

Once I was back on the road, I fished out a burner and called one of the only numbers I knew by heart, praying he was awake and willing to answer an unknown caller.

And would stay on the line once he realized it was me.

“Hello?”

“ AJ !” I shouted into the phone once he finally answered. “AJ, I need you to listen to me. Dawson’s been shot. Is your mom home? I need her help.”

“You need a hospital, not a nurse.”

“I can’t take him there. The cops are looking for us. They think—” I cut myself off as I envisioned Striker’s lifeless body collapsing to the ground before my very eyes. “They think we shot a federal agent.”

“I know. It’s all over the news. They’re saying that Dawson shot Agent Striker, and that the two of you are on the run and dangerous. What the fuck happened, Ky?”

“It’s a long story, and I’m sorry that I don’t have time to explain it and that I’m dumping all this on you out of nowhere when you warned me that this would happen,” I said, officially rambling, “but you told me once that if I ever needed you, you’d be there for me, and I need you, AJ. Dawson is going to die if he doesn’t get medical attention soon, and I’ll never survive this without him. I’m asking you to set aside how you feel about him and me and this fucking mess I’ve gotten myself into and help me. Please .”

My plea was met with silence, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake—if I’d bet on his ability to remember that he’d once loved me and lost. I heard murmurs in the background, muffled voices quickly discussing something, and my unease grew with every passing second.

“Park around back. I’ll help you get him in the house.”

Tears streamed down my face as relief washed over me. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

Twenty-seven minutes later, I pulled onto the parking pad behind AJ’s house and rushed around the passenger’s side as AJ ran out to meet me. “He’s barely conscious,” I said as I yanked the door open. Dawson’s head lolled to the side and his eyes flickered open for a moment before shutting again.

“Jesus,” AJ muttered when he looked at the wounded fed. “Here…let me get him out.” I stepped aside and watched helplessly as my ex-boyfriend maneuvered Dawson out of the car with a gentleness I hadn’t expected. Once free, he carried him to the back porch where his mother stood, waiting.

“How bad is it?” she asked as her son crested the stairs.

“Single gunshot to the right arm,” I said, focusing on the facts and not the potential outcome. “It went straight through. I cleaned it with alcohol and ointment before sewing it shut, but he lost a lot of blood and he’s in and out of consciousness.”

The three of us filed into the living room, and AJ rested Dawson down on the couch. His mother touched the back of her hand to his forehead and frowned. “He’s burning up,” she said before rushing down the hallway to a closet. “I can get his fever down and give him something strong enough to fight the infection, hopefully, but I’m not set up to do an IV drip here, and if he lost that much blood, he needs one.”

“I know,” I said, fighting back more tears. “I made him drink as much water as I could when he was conscious…and sugar…I fed him some sugar in the truck.”

AJ’s mom gave me a tight smile that did nothing to comfort me. “I’ll see what I can do for now, but if he gets worse, I’ll have to take him in. I have no choice, Kylene.”

I nodded a little too frantically in response, and AJ looped his arm around my shoulders.

“Can I…” I said, clearing the emotion from my voice before continuing, “can I use your bathroom to clean up a bit?”

“Of course you can.”

“Thanks.”

“C’mon,” he said, ushering me down the hall to the bathroom. I stepped inside, and he followed. “I’m glad you called—and I'm glad you’re okay.”

“‘Okay’ is a pretty relative term at the moment, but thanks. I appreciate that. And I appreciate you helping us.”

“Ky,” he said, sadness welling in his voice, “regardless of everything that happened between us, I would never want something bad to happen to you, or Dawson, for that matter. I love you, even if I have to settle for that love being the kind friends share.” He stepped forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. “I’m going to see if Mom needs help, then change my clothes.” My gaze drifted to the bloodstains on his white sweatshirt. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked out and closed the door behind him, leaving me to stare at the hollow shell of the girl I’d once been in the mirror while I held on by a thread.

I had no plan. No way out. Until that moment, all I’d done was string events together with the sole purpose of surviving long enough to hurdle the next obstacle. And I realized just how impossible that task seemed now. We were fugitives, with the corrupt head of the fucking Ohio FBI leading the hunt. There wasn’t a scenario I could imagine that would lead to his capture and our freedom. We’d be branded cop killers, just like my father—at best.

At worst, we’d be dead.

As that morbid truth filtered through my mind, a buzzing sounded from my back pocket. I pulled out the burner phone and looked at it like it was a bomb about to blow. Instead of throwing it across the room and taking cover, however, I answered.

“Kylene,” Wilson said calmly, as though he hadn’t shot a man at point-blank range right in front of me only hours earlier. As if he wasn’t the fucking psycho known as the Advocatus Diaboli.

“What do you want?”

“Cutting right to the chase, just like your father. Admirable, especially given your dire circumstances. Tell me, how is Agent Dawson faring? I imagine he’s not looking too good if he’s lost too much blood, or infection has set in.”

“Fuck you—”

“Without proper medical care, I don’t think this will end well for him.”

“It’s not going to end well for you once I get my hands on you—”

His booming laughter cut my bravado off at the knees. “I think we both know that whatever fantasy you have about killing me is just that: a fantasy. But if you want to give him a chance to live, I suggest you do exactly what I tell you.”

“Like I’m going to believe anything you say.”

“I don’t think you have a choice, my dear.” Any hint of amusement disappeared from his voice. “One phone call and your precious Agent Dawson will be in jail. He’ll survive his wound for the time being, but I don’t think he’ll last long in Logan Hill. I think it would only be a week or two before he had an unfortunate and deadly interaction with an inmate. Make no mistake, Miss Danners, your father is alive only because I permit it. Agent Dawson will get no such courtesy.” My body went cold at his threat. “Now, are you ready to listen? Or should I make a call to the sheriff and have him come round up your wounded ally, and arrest your friend and his mother as well for aiding and abetting wanted criminals?”

Shit . He’d traced the burner I’d left on. Shit. Shit. Shit…

It shouldn’t have surprised me that he was one step ahead of me, but somehow, it still did. I stood in AJ’s bathroom, panic slowly overtaking me as I tried to think of a play—tried to outmaneuver a man who wasn’t just playing the game, but writing the rules.

I peeked down the hall and around the corner to see Dawson’s pale body lying still on the couch and knew I had no other options.

With a sigh of resignation, I slipped back into the bathroom and closed the door. “What do you want me to do?”

“There’s an old house on the east side of Wilton,” he said, “no more than twenty minutes from where you are now. The address is 87 Sinclair Drive. It’s at the end of a long, dead-end road. You’ll know it as soon as you see it. Leave now. And in case you have any wild ideas about bringing backup, I don’t think you’ll like the consequences of that foolish move.” A scream echoed in the background, and my heart caught in my chest.

Mom …

“See you soon, Kylene.”

The phone went silent, but the sound of my mother’s desperate cry kept ringing through my mind.

My next move was clear.

I heard AJ and his mom talking softly through the door, and I turned the knob as quietly as I could, hoping they were too involved in their conversation to notice. After slipping my shoes off, I snuck into the hallway and tiptoed through the kitchen to the back door. From there, I burst through to the back yard and sprinted to the stolen vehicle. Seconds after I jumped in, I fired up the engine.

AJ darted out the door after me, yelling something I was grateful I couldn’t hear as I threw it in drive and peeled off down the street into the darkness for what could be the final trip I ever made. By the time I hit the state highway that led northwest toward Wilton, a new hit of adrenaline had kicked in. Delusions of me putting a bullet between Wilson’s eyes blossomed in my brain, and I smiled at the thought. I’d already shot one cop—if I was going to prison, I’d make it worth my while.

And if Dawson survived, maybe his story would corroborate mine enough that neither of us would be put away.

A tiny light sparked in the darkness.

Dawson…

Guilt tugged at my heart at the thought of him waking up and not knowing what had happened to me. He’d be beside himself. And if everything went to shit, he deserved to know what had gone down, in my own words. With that in mind, I fished out the burner and left a voicemail for him.

“Hey…it’s me. I…I’m not even sure if you’ll think to check your messages since you don’t have your phone, but I need to say this right now. There’s so much I want to tell you, but I can’t seem to collect my thoughts when all I can hear in the back of my mind is you yelling at me for what I’m about to do…it kinda kills the desire to tell you anything at all, but…” I let my words trail off, struggling to complete them. “Wilson has my mother, and I’m going to meet him per his demand. I didn’t have a choice, Dawson…I need you to know that. This isn’t me running off half-cocked, I promise. I really didn’t have a choice. Right now, I’m headed to Wilton: 87 Sinclair Drive, to be exact. I don’t know what’s going to happen—if I’m going to make it out of there or not—but since you got to say your piece earlier at the camper, I’m going to take this chance to do the same. But I’ll keep it simple. Everything you said about me is exactly how I feel about you, too…only I…I love you, Agent Cedric Dawson. Against every fiber of my being and my better judgment, I love you, and I need you to know that…just in case.” I felt my voice closing down around the reality of the situation, so I hung up. Actually saying goodbye wasn’t an option. Not then. Not ever.

I tossed the phone down on the passenger seat and focused on the street signs as they passed. I knew roughly where Sinclair Drive was, so I maneuvered my way through the darkened town, squinting at every road sign as I headed west. Eventually, a wooded street came into view, its sign half-covered by overgrown vegetation, but the ‘Sinc’ was clear, so I turned right and followed the unlit road for what seemed like an eternity, searching for the end. Five minutes later, it came into view.

I rolled to a stop and killed the lights, idling as I steadied my nerves.

Mustering every ounce of strength and grit and bravery I could, I cut the engine and climbed out of the truck.

From the moment the gavel fell in the courtroom that day, sealing my father’s fate, every step I’d taken was with the singular focus of seeing him freed. And that journey had led me to exactly where I stood.

In the distance, an abandoned farmhouse sat ominously, beckoning me to it. I knew that beyond its front door, the vengeance I’d craved for so long awaited me. Vengeance for the innocence the AD had stolen from me. For the pain he’d caused. For my father. For Striker.

For Dawson.

Standing there in the dark of night, with only the dim light spilling through the front windows of the eerie house to show the way, I thought about the monster waiting inside. I knew in the marrow of my bones that only one of us would be leaving there alive—that my story with the AD was about to come to a conclusion.

That one way or another, it would end now.