The rain came down in cold, furious sheets over U.S. Highway 50, turning the asphalt into a black mirror that reflected nothing but the flashing, indifferent headlights of passing cars.

The roar of over a hundred heavy cruiser engines drowned out the howl of the storm as the Guardian Knights reformatted their formation.

They placed Doc’s custom trike—a massive, three-wheeled motorcycle fitted with an enclosed, heated side-cabin—right in the absolute center of the convoy. Emery was tucked inside the leather seat, wrapped in three dry blankets, with a warm thermos of hot cocoa pressed into her hands.

Outside her window, a wall of chrome and steel protected her on all sides. To her left rode Bear, his massive frame shielding her from the bitter crosswinds coming off the canyon cliffs. To her right rode Hawk, his eyes constantly scanning the mirrors and the road ahead.

For nine-year-old Emery, who had spent the last two years feeling completely small and defenseless in Valerie’s quiet, hostile house, this felt like being carried inside a moving castle.

Inside the side-cabin, a small tactical display screen lit up. Doc had mounted a radio comms unit so Emery could hear Bear speaking to her without having to yell over the engine noise.

"How are those toes holding up, sweetheart?" Bear’s deep voice came through the small speaker, clear and warm.

Emery took a slow sip of the cocoa, the sweetness washing away the metallic taste of fear that had been stuck in her throat all night. "They don't hurt as much now, Bear. The socks are warm."

"Good," Bear replied. "We're heading north toward Grand Junction. We're about forty miles out. Your dad's office is in the center of town."

Emery clutched Charlotte's Web against her lap. "Is my dad in danger too?"

There was a brief pause on the radio comms before Hawk’s sharp voice came through. "Emery, has your stepmother been giving your dad any special tea or medicine lately? Anything he drinks before he goes to sleep?"

Emery’s eyes widened in the dim light of the cabin. She remembered the small blue glass bottle Valerie kept in the back of the pantry—the one she always added to Arthur’s evening chamomile tea while claiming it was "herbal heart supplements."

"Yes," Emery said quickly, leaning toward the microphone. "Every night at eight o'clock. She makes him drink it. She told me it was for his blood pressure, but when I asked my dad about it last week, he said he was just feeling really tired all the time."

Over the comms, a harsh curse filtered through from one of the rear riders before Bear shut it down.

"Sedatives," Doc muttered from her seat on the trike, her hands firm on the handlebars as she navigated the rain-slick highway. "She's been poisoning Arthur just enough to keep him confused and unreactive while she set up the abandonment claim."

"That's why he didn't realize Emery was gone until three hours ago," Hawk added. "The dosage was timed to keep him asleep while she drove the kid out to Highway 50."

Emery felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. Valerie wasn't just trying to get rid of her—she was slowly destroying her father, too. Arthur Quinn had been so distant lately, so pale and forgetful, that Emery had thought he was simply pulling away from her because he couldn't stand looking at a girl who reminded him of his late wife.

Now she realized the truth: her father wasn't ignoring her. He was being drugged.

"Bear?" Emery asked softly into the microphone. "Is my dad going to be okay?"

"He's going to be just fine, little one," Bear responded without hesitation. "Because we're going to pull him out of that house before that woman can finish what she started."

Suddenly, Hawk’s motorcycle surged ahead by a few feet. His hand went to his ear piece.

"Bear! We got a situation," Hawk called out over the private channel. "A black full-size SUV just pulled out of the scenic overlook two miles ahead of us. No lights on. It’s matching our speed from the shoulder."

Emery looked out her small side window. Through the rain and the spray of highway water, she saw the silhouette of a heavy vehicle lingering in the dark, trailing the back end of the motorcycle convoy.