Riley made a sharp left turn, pulled off the highway and headed into the desert. Startled, I tightened my arms around his waist, and we sped between rocks and cacti, following the van ahead of us. Abruptly, Riley flipped off the lights, as did the van, and we traveled in darkness for a while, only the faint light of the moon guiding the way. Finally, the van slowed and pulled behind a shallow rise, skidding to a halt in a billowing cloud of dust. Riley swerved, cruising beside it, and killed the engine.

Heart pounding, I sat up as the absolute silence of the desert descended on us like a glass dome. Except for my own breathing and the soft creak of the motorcycle, the complete absence of noise was chilling, and my dragon bristled. I didn’t like it. It reminded me of my old school in the middle of the Great Basin, the place my brother and I had spent the majority of our lives, learning how to be human. Surrounded by desert, open sky and a whole lot of nothing. You could go outside and stand for hours in the same spot, the sun blazing down on you, and your ears would start to throb from the eternal, looming silence. I’d hated it. Sometimes, it had felt like the silence was trying to steal my voice; that if I went too long without making any noise, I’d become as still and lifeless as the desert around me. Dante had never understood why I was always so restless.

Dante. A lump rose to my throat as I clambered off the motorcycle, and I forced my thoughts away from him. One problem at a time.

“Still up for this, Firebrand?” Riley whispered, jolting me out of my dark musings. With a mental shake, I nodded as my heart resumed its painful thud against my ribs. Riley gazed at me, then turned and pointed across the desert to where a scattering of distant lights winked at us in the darkness.

“That’s the base,” he said quietly as I stared at the glimmers marking our objective. Garret was somewhere behind those walls, and with any luck, we’d get to him and be long gone before anyone from St. George knew we were there. “We’re about two miles away,” Riley went on, “but we can’t risk driving any closer and having them see us. Stealth is our only chance to pull this off. From here, we walk.”

Wes slipped out of the van, ski cap pulled low over his head, and stalked around the vehicle to yank open the back doors. Riley joined him and dragged a black duffel bag out from under the seat. My heart lurched as Riley casually pulled out a small black pistol, checked the chamber for rounds and holstered it to his belt with easy familiarity.