The car’s engine hummed steadily beneath Annabelle’s tense frame.

The unease that had crept up on her since they left the safehouse now surged like a tidal wave.

She clutched Cathy closer to her, her hand smoothing over her sister’s hair in an effort to calm herself more than the child.

The satellite phone Dante had handed her sat heavy in her lap, the glowing map coordinates a lifeline in the growing storm of doubt. She frowned, studying the tiny red line that charted their route.

The sharp realisation that they were headed in the wrong direction made her stomach drop.

"Rio," she said, her voice tight but steady. "We’re...