  Jacob&#39;s Perspective
  The red Mustang was a sweet ride, but it was a beacon. We got off the main highway as fast as possible, twisting and turning into the grimy streets of a neighborhood that practically screamed &quot;unfriendly.&quot; Graffiti, a broken basketball hoop, and a few kids in baggy clothes leaning against walls, their eyes tracking us with wary suspicion. Classic local gang turf.
  &quot;Wait here,&quot; I told Celena, pushing the car door open. For situations like this, a werewolf&#39;s direct approach worked better than anything. I didn&#39;t waste time. I walked straight up to the one who looked like the leader. A combination of cash and some &quot;gentle&quot; physical persuasion—like casually bending a discarded fire hydrant out of shape—quickly secured us an older, unremarkable-looking Chevy sedan. Its engine sounded solid. Gray, utterly forgettable. Perfect.
 

  Jacob&#39;s Perspective
  Lily and the crew would take two days to get here. Forty-eight hours. Sitting on our hands in this godforsaken place was a terrible plan. We needed a base—somewhere to lay low while keeping an eye on that damned &quot;slaughterhouse.&quot; Easier said than damn well done.
  The area was desolate. Nothing but that lone strip of asphalt leading to the factory, vast stretches of barren fields, and a handful of farms that looked half-abandoned. The farmhouses were dilapidated, leaning at odd angles like rotting teeth in an old man&#39;s mouth. Out here, any new face would stick out like a beacon. Even our dusty, nondescript Chevy felt way too conspicuous.
  What really set my nerves on edge was not knowing if these local farmers were in cahoots with the hunters inside. I couldn&#39;t take that risk, not with Celena&nbsp;with me. If this was a trap, walking right i

  Celena&#39;s Perspective
  In the rearview mirror, the flashing police lights clung to us like a swarm of infuriating fireflies. Ha! Think you can catch me? Dream on! I jerked the steering wheel, the stolen police car roaring in protest as I slammed the accelerator. The vehicle, a furious beast of metal, wove and darted through traffic with reckless abandon. Tires screeched against the asphalt as we left one sluggish family car after another in our dust.
  Wind whipped through the shattered windows, tangling my hair, but it set my blood on fire. This feeling… was so damn good! The fear was gone, replaced by a pure, intoxicating thrill. Controlling this speed and power, toying with our pursuers, made every cell in my body sing.
  Beside me, Jacob was grimacing as he picked shards of glass from his arms and shoulders. &quot;Hiss… damn it…&quot; he muttered, flicking a bloody piece out th

Jacob&#39;s Perspective
  The red Mustang was a sweet ride, but it was a beacon. We got off the main highway as fast as possible, twisting and turning into the grimy streets of a neighborhood that practically screamed &quot;unfriendly.&quot; Graffiti, a broken basketball hoop, and a few kids in baggy clothes leaning against walls, their eyes tracking us with wary suspicion. Classic local gang turf.
  &quot;Wait here,&quot; I told Celena, pushing the car door open. For situations like this, a werewolf&#39;s direct approach worked better than anything. I didn&#39;t waste time. I walked straight up to the one who looked like the leader. A combination of cash and some &quot;gentle&quot; physical persuasion—like casually bending a discarded fire hydrant out of shape—quickly secured us an older, unremarkable-looking Chevy sedan. Its engine sounded solid. Gray, utterly forgettable. Perfect.
  Back on the road, we headed for the neighboring state. As the miles stretched out, the tension in 

Chapter 225