118

The city twisted around us, towering steel and glass reflecting the waning golden light of the late afternoon sun, casting elongated shadows that stretched across the streets. The hum of New York pulsed around us, a chaotic symphony of honking horns, distant sirens, and the murmur of pedestrians navigating their way through the urban sprawl. Valentina’s Ferrari cut through the city like a blade, its sleek form weaving effortlessly between the sea of vehicles clogging the streets as we slipped into the Upper West Side.

I barely registered the blur of the world outside, my mind a whirlwind of fragmented memories and emotions I had spent years trying to bury. My pulse thundered against my skin, a frantic rhythm that refused to slow. I clenched my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms as I struggled to focus, to latch onto something tangible. The name of his new school—it had been in Laura’s last email. She mentioned he had changed schools, but the name… the name was slipping through my grasp like sand through my fingers.

The Ferrari came to a smooth stop outside a bustling shopping mall, its neon signage a glaring contrast against the warm glow of the setting sun. People milled about in every direction, laughter and conversation blending into an indistinct drone. Valentina killed the engine with a sigh, tossing her sunglasses onto the dashboard before turning to glance at me through the rearview mirror. Her blue eyes, sharp and unreadable, flickered with something I couldn’t quite place.

“I’ll be quick,” she murmured, pushing open the door and stepping out with effortless grace. “Sit tight.”

I barely managed a nod before the door slammed shut, sealing me inside the suffocating quiet of the car. The city outside continued moving, oblivious to the turmoil gnawing at my insides. I watched through the tinted windows as Valentina disappeared into the mall, her hips swaying with the kind of confidence I could never muster—not even if my life depended on it. And right now, it did.

A prickle of unease crawled down my spine. My gaze swept the streets, catching sight of uniformed officers stationed at the corners. Their radios crackled with static, their eyes scanning the flow of pedestrians with a trained vigilance that made my stomach clench. The sensation of being watched tightened around my throat like an invisible noose. It was irrational—I knew that—but paranoia had a way of twisting logic into something unrecognizable. It almost felt like they knew I was here, like someone had whispered my name into their ears, like they were waiting for me to slip up.

I curled my fingers into the fabric of my clothes, gripping tightly enough that my knuckles ached. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t be seen. I needed a plan—a fucking plan—but my brain was drowning in panic, chasing itself in dizzying circles.

Then, like a sudden flash of light in the dark, it hit me.

The school. The name from the email. It surfaced in my mind like a beacon, glowing, solid, real. I held onto it, repeating it silently like a mantra, anchoring myself in its certainty. I had to get there. I had to find him.

Before I could formulate my next move, movement outside snagged my attention. Valentina emerged from the mall, a small shopping bag dangling from her manicured fingers. Her face remained unreadable, her pace unhurried, her entire demeanor screaming nonchalance—as if the weight of everything wasn’t pressing down on her shoulders the way it was crushing mine.

She reached the car, yanking the door open and sliding into the driver’s seat in one fluid motion. The warm from the pavement clung to her, rolling off in waves as she tossed the bags into the backseat and pulled the door shut with a firm thud.

“We need to be swift,” she said, her voice calm but edged with urgency. “The fucker at the station might’ve let some things slip online. Won’t take long before they’re looking for a Ferrari owned by a ‘blonde bitch,’ as he so kindly put it.”

I swallowed hard, my throat raw, my mouth dry as sandpaper. My fingers were still curled into my lap, stiff and unyielding.

Valentina turned fully, her piercing gaze locking onto mine. “I need you to not panic. If you’re ever going to see your son, I need a little confidence from you.” 

I exhaled shakily, nodding even as my hands betrayed me with their trembling. Confidence. I had to find it.

Valentina glanced around, rolling the window down an inch as she assessed the surroundings. The golden light of late afternoon bathed the streets in a deceptive warmth, but tension coiled beneath the surface. The calm before the storm.

“Five minutes,” she muttered. “No, less. We ditch the car. I’ll come back for it later. We’re walking.”

Valentina reached into the backseat and yanked the shopping bag open, thrusting it toward me without a word. The fabric rustled as I grabbed it, my fingers clenching tightly around the material as if it was my lifeline.

"Change quickly," she ordered, her eyes darting to the side mirror. "And for fuck’s sake, Eleanor, try not to look like you just escaped the psych ward."

Her words barely registered. My pulse roared in my ears, a rapid, unrelenting beat that matched the frantic movements of my hands. I tore into the bag, yanking out the clothes Valentina had picked—simple, nondescript, forgettable. Exactly what I needed to be.

With no hesitation, I grabbed the hem of my current top, ripping it off in one swift motion. My skin prickled at the exposure, the air-conditioned interior of the Ferrari a sharp contrast to the lingering heat of the city outside. Goosebumps rose along my arms, but I ignored them. There was no time to waste.

My fingers trembled as I pulled on the clean shirt—a plain, fitted black tee. The fabric slid over my skin, soft and snug. I barely had it settled before I was working on my jeans, fumbling with the button as sweat slicked my palms. Every second felt stretched, agonizingly slow yet unbearably fast.

In the front seat, Valentina’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel—tap, tap, tap. Her other hand rested on the gearshift, her knuckles white with tension. She shifted slightly, her sharp gaze scanning the street, her body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.

"Move faster," she muttered, her foot tapping against the floor of the car. "We don’t have the luxury of time."

I shoved the pants down my legs, kicking them off in a tangle of fabric before reaching for the replacement—dark gray sweatpants, loose and forgettable. My bare feet hit the cool leather of the car’s floor as I hurriedly pulled them on, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

My heartbeat thrummed, hammering against my ribcage like it was trying to break free. My pulse pounded, thick and heavy in my throat. Every nerve in my body was on high alert, my senses drowning in the sound of the city beyond the glass windows, the constant thrum of danger lurking just beneath the surface.

I reached for my hair, gathering the wild strands into a tight ponytail before shoving a cap onto my head. The brim cast a shadow over my face, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I grabbed the sunglasses Valentina had thrown into the bag and slid them over my eyes, the world around me darkening into muted shades.

The final piece—shoes. I dropped down, my fingers fumbling as I shoved my feet into the simple white sneakers Valentina had chosen. They fit snugly, slightly worn, but comfortable. Good enough to run in. Good enough to disappear in.

I exhaled sharply, lifting my gaze to meet Valentina’s. She was already watching me, her expression unreadable, but her eyes burned with silent urgency. No words were needed.

We both nodded.

Then, in perfect synchronization, we reached for the door handles and stepped out into the streets. The city swallowed us whole, the roar of traffic and murmurs of passing strangers wrapping around us like a suffocating blanket. The air smelled of asphalt, exhaust fumes, and the faint, distant aroma of street food cooking somewhere nearby.

Valentina moved first, her stride purposeful and confident. I fell into step beside her, my breath steadying as we slipped seamlessly into the current of the crowd. Blending in. Disappearing. Becoming just another pair of nameless figures in the chaos of New York.

One step at a time.

We just had to keep moving.

And we did just that.

The school wasn’t far. That was the only stroke of luck we had. Just a handful of blocks, maybe fifteen minutes on foot if we kept a steady pace. The problem was, we couldn’t just walk like normal people—not when the city felt like it was pulsing with eyes, waiting to catch the first sign of someone out of place. Not when every uniformed cop seemed to be slithering around Manhattan, their presence thick like static in the air.

The afternoon heat bore down on us, baking the pavement, turning the air thick and stifling. This morning had been cold, cruel even, but now it was the kind of heat that made clothes cling, that made your breath feel heavy in your chest. The kind of heat that pulled irritation to the surface, made tempers short.

People moved past us in waves, dressed in business casual, in gym clothes, in school uniforms. No one lingered, no one stopped to look too closely, but I could feel them, their eyes sweeping over us, just brief flickers of attention before moving on.

A man in a gray suit glanced at me as he stepped out of a coffee shop, the door’s chime barely registering in my ears. His gaze lingered a second too long, maybe taking in the oversized hoodie, the baseball cap pulled low. My stomach tightened, but I didn’t falter, didn’t stiffen. That was the first rule of not getting caught—you had to act like you belonged. Any sign of hesitation, any shift in your walk, and people noticed. I kept my hands shoved in my pockets and kept moving, staring straight ahead.

Valentina walked beside me, her movements effortless, her posture easy. She exuded the kind of confidence that could make a person second-guess their own suspicions. She knew how to blend in, how to make herself look like she had every right to be wherever she was. I envied that.

The cops were everywhere. Their uniforms flashed at every corner, their radios crackling as they stood near their cars, near subway entrances, near storefronts. Some of them looked relaxed, bored even, but others had that sharp, hunting look in their eyes, scanning faces, watching.

We passed a group of them near a bus stop. Three of them, one leaning against a squad car, another scribbling something on a notepad, the third talking into his radio. My stomach twisted, a slow coil of dread unfurling deep inside me.

“—blonde, around five-six—”

The words drifted through the air, half-heard over the hum of the city, but they were enough to make my breath hitch in my throat.

I wasn’t blonde. Valentina was.

We kept walking. Steady. Even. I didn’t dare look at Valentina, didn’t let my pace shift even a fraction. The cops didn’t call out. They didn’t follow. I forced myself to breathe, to ignore the sweat slicking my palms.

We turned down another street, slipping into a quieter area. The school was close now, just a few blocks away. The closer we got, the harder my heart pounded. The heat of the day pressed against my skin, but I felt cold underneath it, my nerves buzzing with anticipation, with fear.

Valentina kept a brisk pace beside me, never faltering, never hesitating. She glanced at me once, just a flicker of blue eyes beneath the shadow of her sunglasses. A silent check-in. I gave the smallest nod. I was fine. I had to be.

We had come too far to stop now.