Prologue

Chevy

The interior of the little 350Z smells like vanilla air freshener, damp denim, and the cheap drive-thru coffee cups sitting in the console holders between our seats. The dashboard clock glows a faint blue against the heavy darkness of the storm outside, ticking closer and closer to midnight. Sierra is tapping her thumb against the steering wheel in time with a song playing low on the radio, her curling brown hair catching the dashboard glow as she glances over at me with a wide, effortless grin.

She’s been my absolute rock since high school. The one person who knows every single one of my flaws, my running panic attacks, and the heavy baggage I keep locked away from the rest of the world, and she still loves me without an ounce of judgment. I can't imagine navigating this city without her beside me.

"I'm telling you, Chev, this weekend is going to fix everything," she says, her voice full of that bright, contagious energy that always forces the tight vice out of my chest. She reaches over, giving my knee a quick, reassuring squeeze before righting her grip back on the steering wheel. "You're out of that house now. You're independent. We're going to get your art studio set up, and we're never looking back."

"I know," I murmur, managing a genuine smile as I lean my head back against the vinyl headrest. "Thanks, Sie. For everything. Seriously."

"Oh, shut up, you sap," she teases, her dimples showing as she turns her eyes back to the road. "That’s what best friends are for. We’re in this together. Always."

I’m silently staring at a red light hanging suspended in the air when a set of headlights from an approaching vehicle ricochet throughout the car, casting the person sitting beside me in an eerie glow. Moments later, another pair of headlights from behind glare against the pouring rain.

The downpour is relentless now, a heavy, suffocating sheet of water that slams against the windshield planks, the wipers struggling to clear the blur of the streetlights. The world outside our little bubble looks completely distorted, washed out in shades of gray and neon reflections.

The sound of thunder cracks overhead, causing me to jump as I glance in the side mirror noting that the vehicle from behind doesn’t appear to be slowing down, causing fear to creep into every part of my body, spreading through my veins, seeping into every cavity.

Something is wrong. He's coming entirely too fast. Why isn't he braking?

The physical sensation of the terror is instantaneous, a white-hot current of adrenaline that locks my windpipe tight. I turn my head toward Sierra, my lips parting to shout her name, to tell her to gun the engine or move the car, but the words jam tightly in my throat. Her profile is completely still, her eyes locked on the crimson glow of the suspended traffic signal, completely unaware of the massive wall of steel closing in on our bumper from behind.

The smell of sulfur permeates the air as a strike of lightning lands near my side of the car, the wave blast rocking through my body at the same time that the sound of a horn blares from behind.

The air in the cab goes completely rigid, a terrifying, hyper-focused stillness where every sensory detail is amplified to an unbearable frequency. I can smell the sharp ozone of the lightning, the sweet vanilla of the air freshener, and the bitter tang of my own frantic sweat.

The sound of tires screeching against the wet asphalt sounds in the suddenly too silent air around us. The crunch of impact, and the unmistakable sound of metal connecting with metal assaults my ears as screams filter into the air, blending in with the chaos all around.

The force of the impact causes me to slam sideways, my temple making contact with the passenger side window.

Everything happens so quickly and yet in slow motion.

The initial impact is a savage, visceral explosion of energy that shatters the passenger glass into a million tiny, blinding shards. I hear Sierra scream—a high, terrified sound that is immediately cut short by the sickening groan of twisting iron frames. The little 350Z is launched forward into the center of the intersection like a toy, the tires completely losing traction against the wet asphalt as we hydroplane into the path of oncoming traffic.

The second vehicle makes impact from behind, my body rocking forward, the resistance of the seatbelt searing as it cuts into my chest, my forehead smashing against the rock-hard dash. I feel the slick warmth of blood running down my face as everything around me becomes obscured, fading into a silent, black nothingness.

Sie? Sierra, please breathe. Don't leave me alone in the dark.

The world contracts into an absolute, freezing silence, the sound of the rain and the screams fading away until there is nothing left but the dark void swallowing my mind, locking my history behind a wall of black ice.