The snowy streets are mostly empty, just a few cars passing, a couple stumbling home from a bar two blocks over. I keep my head down, hands in my pockets and move with purpose but not urgency. I’ve left my car behind because the bus station is only a twenty-minute walk. I’ve timed it before, mapped three differentroutes, identified cameras, blind spots and places to run if I need to. Paranoid? Maybe. But paranoid people survive.
The misty rain starts around block five. By block ten, it’s a steady drizzle. My teeth are chattering, but I don’t care. Rain turns into snow which means fewer people outside and fewer cameras that actually work.
The bus station glows ahead like a beacon, too bright, too exposed, but it’s my best option. Car rentals require licenses that might get flagged. Hitchhiking is too risky. The bus is anonymous, paid in cash, no questions asked. Inside, the station smells like stale coffee. A handful of travelers are scattered across hard benches, everyone carefully not making eye contact.
I buy a ticket to Sacramento which is three hours south, big enough to disappear in, small enough that the FBI might not think to look there first. I’ll switch to a train, then maybe a bus north, zigzag my way to... somewhere.
Now I sit and wait. My go-bag sits between my feet, familiar and heavy. I pull out a protein bar I don’t want and force myself to eat. Can’t run on empty. The woman across from me cries softly into her phone. Someone else is passed out, snoring, on a bench. A teenager with purple hair and more piercings than I can count is curled up in a corner, headphones in. We’re all running from something.
The departure board updates. My bus leaves in ten minutes. I pull out my new burner phone, paid for in cash at a convenience store three blocks from my apartment, and I stare at the blank screen. I have Keric’s number memorized and written down. I should’ve forgotten it the moment he gave it to me. Should’ve deleted it immediately instead of saving it and then staring at it like a lovesick teenager. I’m thirty-two years old and I’ve been staring at a phone number like it’s a lifeline. Maybe it is.
I pull up the photo app on my old phone, the one I’ll ditch as soon as I get on the bus. There’s exactly one picture I tooktonight. Keric’s jacket on my desk chair, the leather catching the light, evidence of the best evening I’ve had in three years. I send it to myself at an encrypted email address, then delete it from my phone. One reminder that for a few hours, I was something more than Dr. Lee the witness or Anna Kim the ghost.
“Now boarding for Sacramento,” the speaker crackles.
I stand, shouldering my bag. This is it. Last chance to call the FBI, turn over the evidence, ask for help. Nope, I’m on my own again this time. It’s safer for everyone I care about, including myself.
I head toward the gate, falling in line with the other passengers.
The driver checks tickets, nods, waves us on. I’m three steps from the bus, from safety, from disappearing?—
“Anna.”
I freeze because I know the deep voice. I turn slowly, already knowing what I’ll see.
Keric Irontree yells my name from the middle of the bus station. He’s massive and unmistakable even in this crowd. His twisted horns catch the fluorescent light. His green skin looks darker under these harsh bulbs, more otherworldly. He’s not wearing a shirt anymore, allowing everyone to see that massive chest and the tribal tattoos that sleeve both of his muscular arms. He looks like he’s been running.
Our eyes meet across twenty feet of dirty tile and scattered travelers. He moves outside, closer to me standing in line and doesn’t look angry or confused, instead he looks relieved. And determined.
“Ma’am?” The bus driver is waiting, impatient. “You boarding or not?”
I should get on the bus. Should run in order to protect him, Ellie and Zoe by disappearing. But my feet won’t move.
Keric marches toward me, cutting through the space between us with that confident stride I remember from the school, when he pulled me to safety. People move out of his way automatically, not because he’s threatening, but because there’s something about this massive orc with the black horns, tusks and the crooked nose that demands space.
He stops three feet away, rivulets of water running down his bare chest. “You don’t get to disappear on me,” he says quietly, with that impossibly deep voice.
My throat tightens. “How did you find me?”
“Jonus tracked your phone. Then I tracked you.” Something flashes in his dark eyes. “I know you’re running, Anna. I found your apartment. I saw the photos.”
Oh god. He knows everything and he’s still here, standing in a bus station at two in the morning, looking at me like… “I’m dangerous,” I manage to croak out. “Being near me puts you, Ellie and Zoe in danger.”
“Yes,” he agrees. Simple, matter-of-fact. “So you run to me, not from me.”
I throw up my hands. “You don’t understand. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this?—”
“I’m not asking.” His voice drops lower. It’s not quite a growl, but close enough. “You’re not getting on that bus.”
The driver honks. Last call.
“They’ll kill you,” I whisper. “They kill everyone who…” my eyes water and my voice cracks. “I can’t stay because I can’t let any harm come to Ellie and Zoe.”
“Then we make sure that doesn’t happen.” Keric takes one step closer. “Anna. Look at me.”
I do. Because apparently my self-preservation instincts have completely abandoned me.
“I’ve been watching you for months,” he says. “Waiting for you to see me the way I see you. And at the Wedding, for the firsttime, you did. You looked at me like I was someone who could—” He stops, jaw clenching. “I’m not letting you run. Not when I just found you.”
