Agent Miller's Suspicions

The hum of the engine was a familiar lullaby, a counterpoint to the gnawing anxiety that had become my constant companion. Nine hours. Nine hours we’d been on the road, each mile a desperate attempt to outrun the shadows that clung to us like cheap cologne. Jacob, bless his twisted soul, was a master of the vanishing act, but even he looked a little frayed around the edges, his gaze flicking to the rearview mirror with an unnerving frequency. I understood. The Don’s reach was long, his memory even longer, and his grief was a wildfire that threatened to consume everything in its path.

“See anything?” I asked, my voice rough from disuse. The silence in the car was thick enough to choke on.

Jacob shook his head, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Just… road.”