Panic was a luxury I couldn't afford. The moment I saw the black van slide into the lane behind me, every survival instinct I possessed screamed to life. I didn't speed up. I didn't swerve. I kept my breathing even and my hands steady on the wheel, just another anonymous sedan navigating the concrete labyrinth of downtown Los Angeles.
My mind raced, cataloging everything Damien had ever taught me about situational awareness. Never lead them to your primary location. Find a public space with multiple exits. Look for choke points.
I made a series of quick, seemingly random turns, testing their intent. The van mirrored every move, its movements fluid and predatory. They were professionals. My rental car felt like a tin can, a fragile shell against the hunters at my back.
