Chapter 8

I don’t even remember lying down. One second I’m staring at the crash report on my kitchen table—“Unidentified Male, Possible Name: Liam Hart”—the next, my eyes burn and the letters smear, and the room folds in on itself. When it snaps back, I’m in the truck. Rain slams the windshield so hard it sounds like it’s trying to get in. Wipers thrash. Headlights smear into white comets. He’s driving. The man from every night. The not‑stranger. His profile is clearer now—dark...