“Get in the car. We’re moving,” Dad barks.

“What!” I shout.

“Now. I'll explain later,” he states firmly.

The next morning Mom shouts, “Wake up!”  I stumble around our new house and into the kitchen. “I have a list of things I need you and your sister to go get,” Mom says.

“Okay, Grace, let’s go,” I shout.

“Coming,” she responds.

“They’re hiding something,” I whisper to Grace.

“Definitely,” Grace agrees as she opens the car door. A small click sounds, Boom! The car explodes, and I fly through the air. Pain shoots through my body, and the world fades to black.

Later that day, I wake up and take in the white walls of a hospital room. I see Dad at the foot of my bed with his head in his hands. I look down and see my arms covered in bandages,  and my left arm in a cast. If I feel this bad, what about Grace? She stood right next to the car. The monitor beats faster as I think about what happened. “Chloe? Thank God, you’re awake,” Dad says.

“Dad, where’s Grace, is she okay?” I ask.

“She’s alive, but in bad shape,” he responds.

“Dad, what happened? Why would this happen to us?”

“It’s all my fault. I used to be in the CIA. I tracked down terrorist groups, and was good at it. When we had you girls, I put the four of us in witness protection, but somehow one of the terrorists found us. That’s why we moved. They want revenge. They want to kill us.”