Her knuckles were white where she held my arm. She leaned in so close I could smell the faint scent of mint and roast espresso on her breath.
“I lied,” she whispered, her eyes wide with an urgency that sent a sudden spike of ice down my spine.
Before I could process the words, she shoved a folded piece of thermal receipt paper into my palm, squeezed my fingers shut over it, and quickly turned back toward the kitchen.
Julian was waiting on the sidewalk, holding the door, looking at me with those soft, apologetic eyes. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice tender.
“Yeah,” I forced out, my heart suddenly pounding against my ribs. “Just left my coat for a second, but I’m good.”
I kept my hands in my jacket pockets as we started walking toward his car. Under the orange glow of a flickering streetlight, while Julian was distracted checking his phone to “fix his bank app,” I uncurled my fingers and flipped the receipt over.
Written in dark blue ink, in jagged, frantic handwriting that scratched through the paper, were two words:
RUN NOW.
My stomach dropped into a abyss. I looked up. Julian was standing at the passenger side of his sleek black sedan, holding the door open for me. He smiled—that same sweet, boyish smile—and gestured for me to get in.
In the faint streetlamp light, I noticed for the very first time that the child-locks on the rear and passenger doors were already engaged, and the leather on the passenger headrest was strangely worn down by heavy, metallic straps.
“Ready to go?” he asked softly.
I took a slow step backward
