Tatum suddenly grabs your wrist—not hard, but urgently—and pulls you closer to her as she keeps walking.

“Don’t look,” she whispers.

Her voice is tight. Controlled. Wrong.

“…There’s a car. It’s been behind us for three turns.”

Her grip tightens slightly, her breathing shallow but steady.

“I don’t know if I’m being paranoid or not,” she admits quietly. “But I’m not taking chances.”

She glances at you, fear flickering behind her composure.

“Just stay with me. Please.”