“Yup, you will need to pay,” the driver says, rolling his eyes. “That’s how this works, kid.”
Fuck.
No wallet. No cash. No card.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
The driver sighs. “Cash or card, kid. We don’t do free rides.”
I feel the heat of humiliation crawl up my neck. Tears prick my eyes instantly. I’m standing there—disheveled, terrified, completely broke—and the only thing keeping me from collapsing is the metal pole I’m gripping so hard my knuckles ache.
“I… I don’t have…” I say, my mind blanking out on any ideas.
But a soft voice interrupts from behind me.
“Let me take care of it.”
I turn.
An older man—seventies maybe, tweed flat cap, wool coat, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses—has risen from his seat near the front. He’s already pulling a worn leather wallet from his inside pocket.
The driver shrugs. “Whatever you say, pops.”
The man feeds a twenty into the machine. The receipt spits out. He hands it to me with a small, gentle smile.
“Go on, dear. Find a seat.”
Tears spill over before I can stop them.
“Thank you,” I choke out. “Thank yousomuch. You’ve just saved my life. Literally.”
I whisper theliterallyso as not to scare the old man. He just nods and returns to his seat without fanfare, as though paying for a stranger’s escape is something he does every Tuesday.
I shuffle down the aisle on shaking legs, drop into the first empty row near the back, and press my forehead against the cool glass of the window. The bus doors close. The engine rumbles louder. We pull away from the curb.
The small town slides past in reverse, and a few store fronts later and it’s gone.
I hug my backpack to my chest. Claw’s fuzzy head presses against my chin.
My mind is spinning so fast I feel dizzy.
I can’t go back to my father.
The realization hits harder than the cold glass against my temple.
He wouldn’t pay. Wouldn’t negotiate. Wouldn’t even pretend to care enough to send a team of his most lethal men out to save me. Ivan’s words from the diner replay in brutal clarity:
He’s playing a game he can’t win. And you’re the piece he’s willing to sacrifice.
I believed it then. I believe it more now.
And the truth is that I’m alone. Maybe I always have been since my mom passed away. It’s a hard truth to take in. But I believe it.
I am completely, terrifyinglyalone.
And then there’s Ivan.
My throat closes around a sob I refuse to let out.
