Clara scrambled to her feet, stunned. He’d seemed fine just moments ago—what happened?
They rode the escalator down in silence. Dylan didn’t say a word. Neither did Aiden.
Clara, feeling a bit like an outsider, kept quiet too.
Back in the car, she grabbed a bottle of water and held it out to Dylan. “Want some?”
Dylan leaned against the backseat, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he didn’t take the water. He looked completely lost in his own misery.
Clara started to say something to comfort him, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw a line of massive trucks barreling toward them.
Almost without thinking, she shouted, “Aiden!”
Aiden had already floored the gas before she even finished.
Clara forced herself to stay calm and glanced behind them. The trucks filled the entire road—they were on the only route back to the Capital. Someone clearly didn’t want them getting back.
She took a deep breath. “So, what’s the plan?”
Aiden’s face was steady, totally unfazed. “We keep driving. Wherever we can make it to, that’s where we’ll go. Miss, I’ll need you to look after the boss. He’s not doing well.”
Clara slid over next to Dylan and touched his forehead. No fever, but he looked awful.
“Dylan?”
She called his name gently, even brushing her fingers near his nose just to check he was breathing.
It felt a little ridiculous, but right then he seemed almost lifeless.
Dylan’s eyes fluttered open. In the rush of the speeding car, with the wind whistling outside, he suddenly reached out and pulled her into his arms.
Clara was caught off guard—his arms wrapped around her neck, their bodies pressed together, heat and tension spilling between them.
Her mind went blank. She could feel how stiff he was, and the hand she’d meant to use to gently push him away just froze in the air.
Aiden said he was having an episode, but as far as she knew, Dylan only struggled with insomnia. Was there something else? What on earth happened in that building to mess him up like this?
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