Stanley had no clue where Dianna was going — her driving was sharp and reckless, like a woman running from ghosts. But when Beatrix's car slid into view behind her, tailing close, Stanley eased back.
Beatrix wasn't tailing for the sake of curiosity — no, this was maternal instinct, sharp and unyielding. She was watching over her daughter, even if Dianna didn't know it.
The cars carved through the city streets, crossing the old iron bridge where the river below churned dark and restless.
Stanley's gut twisted. Something was wrong. Dianna's car wasn't just speeding — it was accelerating, like she was bracing for impact rather than avoiding it.
And then it happened.
Without warning, Dianna jerked the wheel hard, sending the car crashing through the thin safety rail.
The sound of metal screeching against metal snapped through the air, and then — silence, just for a heartbeat — before the vehicle plunged off the bridge and into the freezing black water below.
