Unable to bear the sound of the whistling any longer, I finally mustered the courage to get up. I reached for the Glock I’d taken from the dashboard of Rafayel’s car, though I had never used one before. My hands trembled slightly as I gripped it, holding it as a means of self-defence. My instincts were screaming at me—Bianca and I had been followed, I was sure of it, ever since we passed through Poughkeepsie earlier that afternoon.

“Leslie?” Bianca’s voice was groggy as she stirred awake. Her eyes widened when she saw me holding the Glock. “Why are you holding that?”

“Stay calm,” I whispered softly, trying to keep...