Gunfire shattered the night. Metal rang as bullets tore into the building. Mike bolted for the back, but he dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing into the dirt.
Aiden screamed. Nathan grabbed him and pulled him close.
“Don’t look,” he said. “Run!”
They staggered out through a side door, tripping over wood and trash. They practically fell into the car. Nathan started the engine with shaking hands.
In the rearview mirror, the shed grew smaller, but the echo of gunfire rattled around Aiden’s skull.
“He died… helping us,” the boy whispered.
“He died because of them,” Nathan replied, jaw clenched. “And I’m not letting his death disappear.”
Hours later—his shoulder already burning with the bullet it would soon take—Nathan pulled the car off the road, following directions Mike had given him earlier. There, half-hidden in the trees by the river, stood an old house sunk deep in fog.
Aiden was asleep in the backseat again, arms around Ranger. Nathan reread Lauren’s letter by the soft glow of the dashboard. Every line felt like she was whispering right into his ear.