DUI

Every time I glance in my rearview mirror, the same headlights shine.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as I take another seemingly random turn.

"Come on, come on," I mutter, willing the car behind me to disappear.

But it doesn't. Those damn headlights remain, like predatory eyes in the darkness. I've been driving in circles for what feels like hours, getting off the highway only to loop back on again.

At first, I thought it was Mike. But then I remembered—his car's still at the office.

I try to focus on the road ahead, but my eyes keep darting to the rearview mirror. The shape of those headlights is burned into my retinas.

Random turns aside, I'm now headed toward the police station. Maybe I'm paranoid. Maybe it's not the same car. It's just headlights in the dark, right? So it could be a different car each time.

But with the panther's warning ringing in my head, I know it's not.