Andrew barely heard her. His eyes were locked on the SUV as it slowed and pulled into the cracked lot of a run-down roadside motel. The neon sign buzzed overhead: Silver Pines Inn. The vehicle rolled into the farthest space—partially hidden from the road by an overgrown hedge.
The engine cut. No one got out. Andrew parked half a block away, across the street. His heart thundered in his chest. “They’ve stopped,” he whispered. “Motel. Room-side lot. They’re just… sitting there.”