People who are lost usually look lost. They speed up, slow down, drift a little, brake late, then rush to pass when they see a gap.
People who know the road don’t drive like that either. They keep moving and get where they’re going.
This car does neither.
It stays the same distance behind us no matter what the road does. When traffic slows, it comes up just enough to stay with us. When the road opens, it drops back but doesn’t lose us. No sudden speeding up. No hard braking. Nothing that makes people look twice.
It isn’t trying to hide. It’s trying to look normal.
I don’t say anything to Ana yet. I don’t need to. She can see enough in the side mirror.
She keeps facing forward and keeps Mila busy in the back, reminding her to stay buckled and pointing out fields and small buildings as we pass. Her voice changes with what she’s saying, light when she needs it, steady the rest of the time. She gives Mila enough to keep her looking out the window instead of watching us.
Mila listens for a bit, then leans forward and asks, clear as day, if the bad man is still there.
“I’m watching,” Ana says. “You’re safe right now. Just stay buckled and keep looking outside, okay?”
I take the first turn early, before the light changes. The car follows.
The second turn comes faster, cutting across lanes just short of drawing a horn. It stays with us.
On the third change, I slow instead of pushing forward and let a delivery truck slide between us. The sedan waits. It doesn’t pass and it doesn’t drop back. When the truck turns off, the gap settles into the same space it held before.
I keep my voice steady. “They’re still behind us.”
Ana keeps her eyes forward. “How close?”
“Close enough to follow where we go,” I say. “Not close enough to try anything.”
She nods once and keeps talking to Mila like nothing changed.
We stop for the night just after dark, when the traffic gets lighter and the towns turn into a few lights and a sign you can miss if you’re not looking. The motel sits back from the highway, aplain row of rooms with numbered doors and a parking lot that’s mostly empty.
I pull in slowly and park where I can see both exits without drawing attention. The sedan that’s been behind us all afternoon stays on the road. It doesn’t turn in. It keeps going at the same steady speed and disappears around the next bend.
That’s when I know they’ve seen what they needed to see.
Ana notices before I say anything. She watches the road, then looks at me. “Is it gone?”
“For now,” I say.
Mila is half asleep in the back, her fox tucked under her chin. “Are we staying here?” she asks, her words slow and heavy.
“Yes,” Ana tells her. “Just for tonight.”
Later, after Mila is settled and breathing evenly, I lock the door. Ana looks up from the bed.
“They handed us off,” she says.
“Yes,” I say. “Which means they know where we’re headed.”
“Do we change cars or plates?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “Not yet.”
She waits.
“If I change anything now, I’m telling them I’m running,” I continue. “I want them comfortable. I want them thinking they’re still watching the same thing. When I switch, it’ll be when I’m done letting them see me.”
