“Four or five hours?” My mind races, processing this new information. There’s no way she drove my friends four hours out of town. There wasn’t enough time between dinner and now. It’s impossible. “You played me,” I say, the realization hitting me hard. “You aren’t taking me to my friends at all, are you, Harlowe?” I spit out her name. “Let me guess. We’re just driving aimlessly, while my friends are locked up somewhere at school. Somewhere right under our noses.”

Harlowe laughs. “Smart. Now I see how you got that number-five stratum.”

I’m stuck in this car with her until she decides to stop or turn around. For all I know, she really does plan to drive all night while I stew in the back seat, worried sick about my friends. I don’t know what she has in store for them, but I get it now. This little road trip is my initiation. I can’t believe I fell for it.

I scramble to make this all okay. To prove to Harlowe that she hasn’t won. Not yet. “They’ll wait,” I say, feeling increasingly desperate and trapped. “Maude, Theodora, and Pippa will wait until someone finds them. Or they’ll bust their way out.” I don’t mention their capabilities or the fact that they’re stronger than she could ever imagine.

“Doesn’t matter to me if they’ve escaped,” she responds. “The damage has already been done.”

“You can’t traumatize them or scare them into leaving Darkwood,” I answer angrily. “They’ve seen worse. Much, much worse!”

“Maybe we’re not trying to get them to leave.” Harlowe shrugs, gunning the accelerator. “Maybe we want to teach them a lesson.”

I have to get out of this car. I can’t stand the thought of Harlowe torturing my friends. Hurting them, even emotionally. And there’s no way I’m sitting here, her captive for who knows how long, while she leads me farther and farther away from school.

Screw her, I think, watching the highway speed past us and thinking of my dad, praying that he won’t ground me for life for what I’m about to do. It’s the one thing Harlowe won’t expect. But she doesn’t know what I went through last year. She doesn’t know what I faced on that island. And how much I care about my friends.

And besides. It’s also the only way out.

I open the door.

The asphalt of the highway greets me in a rush. We must be going at least fifty miles an hour. But it’s too late. I’m doing this.

“Thanks for the ride, Harlowe,” I say, my voice biting, and then I leap from the moving car.