The cold mountain air hit Anita like a physical force the moment she slipped through the heavy oak doors. It was bracing, scented with pine needles and the distant, electric charge of the approaching storm.
'Run,' Nova whispered, the command vibrating through Anita's very bones.
Anita didn't wait. She bolted toward the treeline, her sneakers crunching softly on the frost-covered grass. She didn't look back at the fortress-like estate or the warm light spilling from the windows. She ran until the shadows of the ancient fir trees swallowed her whole, plunging her into a world of silver moonlight and deep, velvet blacks.
"Nova," Anita panted, stopping in a small clearing where the canopy opened up to the stars. "How do I... how do we do this?"
'Let go, Anita. Stop trying to be the girl who died in 2019. Stop trying to be the nanny Gotti wants to cage. Just be.'
