“Regina, slow down!” Emma Swan shouts, bracing one hand on the dash and the other against a splintered passenger side window, glass fogging around her fingers and palm. “We’re not gonna make it if we crash before we get there!”
But Regina can’t slow down, can’t stop, can’t pause for a minute to think beyond Almost there almost there almost there!
Sweat beads at her temples, tracks through ash, grime, and a smear of blood at her hairline. She’s shaking, muscles spasming painfully as she harshly inhales shuddering breath after breath.
Calm down, Regina. Just breathe, she thinks, trying to convince herself that everything is going to be alright.
She just needs to get back, just needs to get home, just needs to get to her boys.
But there’s a drowning dread brewing in her belly, a gnawing terror clawing at her heart as her eyes dart up to the rear view mirror again.