AURORA MOON
As the van sped toward whatever destination awaited Aurora and her brother, she pressed her shoulder to the cold metal wall, steadying Ryder as he slumped beside her. Her wrists were zip-tied, the plastic ridges biting into her skin. Ryder swayed with the motion, blood drying at his temple, every breath shaky.
Aurora tried to count the turns, to memorize the route—left, left, then right, slower here, then a burst of speed. But fear jumbled her sense of direction. All she could feel was the sick thump of dread beneath her breastbone.
Their captors said nothing as they drove. The masked man who sat across from them cradled a gun in his lap, eyes unreadable behind a balaclava. Aurora kept her gaze low, but she studied the man's gloved hands, the way he checked his watch each time they passed beneath a streetlight.
"Ryder," she whispered. "Are you alright?"
He winced, managing a weak nod. "Nothing broken. Just bruised—and humiliated."
