THIRD PERSON POV
The car has been moving for four minutes before Beatrice draws the knife.
She does it without looking at Angel. One hand opens her handbag. The other finds the small blade she has started carrying in the last six months. The metal is cold against her palm, lighter than she expected the first time she held it, and steady now in a way her hands used to not be.
Angel notices the movement. Her grip on the steering wheel tightens. She does not slow the car.
Beatrice leans across the gap between the seats and presses the edge of the blade against the side of Angel's throat. Light, at first. Just a reminder of where the metal is. The pink diamond pendant sits cool in her other hand, catching afternoon sun through the tinted window.
"Pull over."
"Beatrice —"
"I said pull over."
