“Hopefully, Breyona makes it out before this all blows up.” Cassidy huffed, tightening her grip on the steering wheel as we raced down the winding backroads, closer to the center of town.

She seemed at ease behind the wheel, taking the sharp turns with a look of focus on her face. I jumped and clutched the seatbelt against my chest when the car lurched forwards, the exhaust snarling from the rush of power. Cassidy cursed, which was decidedly more surprising than the sudden acceleration, and leaned down to grab something off the floor.

“…can’t drive with these things on.” Her snarl was forced through gritted teeth.

We neared the trunk of a thick oak tree and just when I thought we were going to plow into it, she sat up with a fuzzy pink slipper clutched in hand. With the flick of a wrist we coasted around yet another sharp curve, back to driving smoothly even though the speedometer didn’t dip below sixty-five.

&ld