Page 117 of Gunnar

He gives me a hard look.

“Stay with me,” he says. “Don’t break away. Not for anything.”

I nod.

“If it goes bad, you get behind me. You don’t try anything on your own.”

“I won’t.”

He holds my gaze, then looks away.

The road runs on in front of us, empty. Headlights pick out the strip of tarmac and the trees on either side. Everything beyond that drops away into darkness.

I let my head fall back and close my eyes, but the image comes straight back—his face, the way he looked at me.

I open them again.

Gunnar is still, but a muscle in his jaw is twitching.

After a while, his hand finds mine.

I lace my fingers through his, feeling the mark on the back of my neck pulse.

The road changes under the tires. Less loose gravel, more tarmac. The truck speeds up.

Time passes.

At some point Gunnar lets go of my hand and leans forward, looking through the windshield. He doesn’t say anything, but something in him has tightened again.

I follow his gaze.

The track is narrower now. Trees closer to the edge.

“We’re getting close,” Torin says.

Gunnar nods.

He checks the gun at his side, quick and matter-of-fact, then glances at me.

“You good?”

I nod. Pull the gun from the pocket in the door and stuff it into my waistband.

Up ahead, through the trees, I catch something that doesn’t belong—the dark shape of a vehicle.

Gunnar’s grip tightens. “See that?”

“Yup.” Torin throws him a quick glance.

The road curves to the left and Torin brakes. A vehicle sits across the track.

Torin brings the truck to a stop.

“Stay close to me when we get out,” Gunnar says.

I nod.

“No matter what.” He gives my hand a final squeeze, then picks up his rifle from the floor and opens his door.