After a second or two, the Mustang settled on a low, thrumming rumble . . . until I put her into gear and maneuvered her out of her parking spot. I was surrounded by thunder and vibrating power, which only increased as I pulled out of the garage and onto the street. When I shifted into second and pressed on the gas pedal once more, a thrill rushed through me. The old girl had kick, and I kind of loved her.

I was tempted to really let her open up on the freeway, but it was too risky. I needed to fly under the radar, and getting pulled over was pretty much the opposite of that. My face was all over the news, after all. There was no doubt that any traffic cop would recognize me, and then I’d have to fight my way out of yet another sticky situation, and I really didn’t want to beat up anyone else for just doing their job. Everybody needs money, after all. It’s the world we live in.

Traffic was shitty pretty much everywhere, not that it was really any surprise—weekdays from two thirty to seven in the evening are pretty much the worst times to drive in Seattle. Aside from the mornings. And any time there was an accident. Or just someone getting pulled over for speeding.

Most times are the worst times for driving in Seattle, and this time was no different.

I lasted on the freeway for a single stretch between exits before getting off and navigating my way through the maze of stoplights and one-way streets downtown. It took a ridiculous amount of time for me to make it a few miles, but finally I was parking the Mustang in an abandoned gravel lot beside the freeway, maybe a quarter mile southeast of the Tent District’s eastern gate. I was so close to meeting back up with Garth. So close to sending him away, for good.

I must’ve been sleepwalking the past twelve hours. It was the only explanation for why I’d let anything happen between us. For why I’d thought any kind of an anything between us was a possibility. He was good and pure, and his life had been free and easy before I’d come along. His life had been safe. I was toxic to him, as bad as the tear gas, and the longer he hung around me, the more likely it was that he’d get dead. I’d let my heart take over, and that had been a mistake. It was time to start thinking with my brain . . . and only with my brain.

I buckled my sword harness, shrugged into my leather coat, still splattered with sticky blood, zipped it almost up to my neck, and settled my backpack on my shoulders. Hands in my pockets and head down, I hurried toward the Tent District’s eastern gate.

“Would you mind unzipping a bit so I can see where we’re going?” I sucked in a breath, startled by Dom’s voice. He’d returned to the Bainbridge mirror for the drive to get Lex and the others up to speed and to get an update on Carmichael, and I always felt antsier when he wasn’t the voice of reason in my head.