The dot was sliding forward—steady, purposeful—like whatever carried it knew exactly where it was going. “Rex,” Eleanor whispered, throat tight. “Come on,” Sarah said. “Now.” They were out the door in seconds. Sarah drove; Eleanor held the tablet in her lap like it was glass. The dot crept along the map, then turned—an arrow’s certainty.
Sarah followed, keeping her speed normal, refusing to look desperate. “Is it still moving?” Sarah asked. Eleanor swallowed. “Yes.” They hit the first traffic light and it turned red at the worst possible moment. Sarah gripped the wheel. Ahead, cars stacked up like a wall. The dot kept moving anyway, pulling farther away with every second Eleanor couldn’t do anything but watch.