Forty steps. Fifty. The darkness was getting deeper. She could barely see the path now. She was moving on instinct, on faith, on the memory of Dante's voice telling her exactly what to do.
And then, suddenly, the trees opened up.
The clearing was there.
Small and secluded and perfect. And parked in the center of it, engine running, headlights off, was Dante's car.
Dante was in the driver's seat.
When he saw Isabella emerge from the trees, their eyes locked across the distance of the clearing.
She saw him take in her appearance, confirming she was unharmed, confirming she'd made it through the extraction successfully. She saw something like relief flash across his face, quickly replaced by focus and control.
Isabella walked toward the car, and her legs felt unsteady. The adrenaline from the walk, from the escape, from the enormity of what she'd just done was making everything feel dreamlike.
Dante reached over and opened the passenger door from the inside.
Isabella got in.
