Maybe Markus was wrong. Maybe Price won’t kill her. Maybe once the guy who sent him gets what he wants, Price will help her make it through the rest of the Registration period alive. After today, there will only be ten more days left to survive.

It’s pointless to hope, she knows. She’s barely survived the first four days. There’s no way she’ll make it ten more.

When they walk into baggage claim, she sees a man in a pitch-black suit, black sunglasses, and a white hat holding a sign that reads “E. ZACH.” Price stops in front of the man, yanking Lynell to a halt.

“Hey, Zimmer,” he says with a nod.

“Sir,” the man responds. He lowers the sign and grabs Price’s bag.

Lynell frowns, looking from this man—Zimmer—back up at Price, who just shrugs and pulls her along to follow the man outside. They don’t have to walk far. Right outside the door is a black hatchback with tinted windows. It shines in the daylight and even though Lynell doesn’t know much about cars, she can tell this one is probably expensive. Next to the passenger’s seat stands a tall man with muscles bigger than his black shirt can handle. He’s in simple black pants, and two holsters hang around his arms, both of which are holding guns. Lynell stops walking and sucks in a breath, fear lancing through her body.

Price grabs her hand and turns to face her. “It’s okay. He’s here to protect us and only protect. He didn’t Register you,” he says, calmly and quietly so the other two men can’t hear him. Lynell searches his gaze but finds no trace of a lie. Not that she’s confident she would know if he were lying, but it’s enough to make her nod.

The large man doesn’t look at her as he opens the door. Price thanks him and climbs in. Lynell pauses to study his face. It’s covered in tiny scars, as are his arms.

“Coming?” Price asks from inside the car. His eyes are glinting, as if he’s proud of her reaction to their entourage.

She clears her throat and follows him into the car. Zimmer and the large man follow, closing and locking the doors behind them. No music plays as Zimmer drives, and the car moves almost silently, so Lynell is left to stew in her thoughts.

She tries to ignore how Price’s posture straightens and his hands regularly curl in and out of fists as they drive. She looks at the two men in the front, who both stare forward with unwavering attention, backs rigid. The large man’s hands rest on his thighs, eerily close to his guns. Zimmer’s hands gently curl around the steering wheel, and he drives with more caution than is necessary. They take a turn and Lynell sways, her heartbeat speeding up.

“Where are we going?” she whispers to Price.

“You’ll see,” he whispers back. He reaches up and rubs his neck. Lynell notices tiny beads of sweat covering the back of his hands. His nervous unease does nothing to calm Lynell and it feels as if all the veins in her body are on fire, vibrating with the need to get out of the car and run.