LUCAS POV:
I went to the waiting room, trying to breathe. Trying to think. My thoughts were spiraling—panic scratching behind my eyes like rats in a box.
So much for my fucking escape.
But then it hit me—what if I didn't fly out? What if I could cross the border by bus, and then take a flight from the next country over? Maybe there was a crack in their perfect little trap. Maybe the bastards hadn't locked down the land routes yet. The hope burned in me like a lit match in a gas-filled room.
Hope flickered. Not a flame, but a spark. And in a place like this, even a spark was blinding.
I got up fast—too fast. My legs were still sore, my muscles tight and bruised. But I didn't care. As long as I got out.
Out. Out. Out.
