But this isn’t the time to be getting bogged down in a country life vs city hustle debate. Far from it. I need to get moving, and fast.
I blink hard, trying to shake off the fog. My backpack is still wedged between my feet, and Claw’s fuzzy head peeks out the top zipper like he’s keeping watch. I pick the bag up and hug it tight to my chest.
The kindly old man who paid my fare is already standing in the aisle, adjusting the brim of his flat cap. He turns and offers me a small, steady smile.
“You take care of yourself now, dear,” he says quietly. “Whatever’s chasing you… you’re stronger than it is.”
I manage a nod, throat too tight to speak properly.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Foreverything.”
The old man tips his cap once, then disappears down the steps.
I wait until most of the passengers have filed out before I stand. My legs feel unsteady, like they’ve forgotten how to move after so many hours of sitting. I sling the backpack over both shoulders and follow the last stragglers off the bus.
People surge around me—commuters in business casual, students with earbuds in, a family arguing over a lost ticket. I keep my head down, hood up, moving fast but not running.
Running draws eyes.
And that’s thelastthing I need.
I’m still afraid. The fear sits under my ribs like a second heartbeat, all sharp, insistent. But I refuse to let it swallow me whole.
I am a Galkin.
My father may have written me off as expendable, but that doesn’t erase the blood in my veins. It doesn’t erase the lessons he drilled into me when I was small: never show weakness, never beg, never break.
If my father won’t save me, I’ll save myself.
It’s time to end this… for good.
I head toward campus on foot. It’s a long walk—almost forty minutes—but I don’t trust buses or rideshares right now. Too many cameras. Too many chances for someone to spot me. The city feels different today—sharper, louder, every face a potential threat. I keep my pace steady, shoulders back, eyes forward.
Hey, I’m just another college boy walking to class.
Yeah,right.
Todd’s lecture ends soon. I reach the building with ten minutes to spare and find a bench half-hidden by a row of overgrown bushes. I sit, hood still up, pretending to scroll on a phone I don’t have. My heart hammers every time someone walks past, but no one looks twice.
Right on cue, Todd comes through the double doors—backpack slung over one shoulder, phone in hand, laughing at something one of his classmates just said. His hair is that perfect Todd bed-head messy, and he’s wearing the same denim jacket he’s had since sophomore year.
But when he sees me he stops dead.
His mouth drops open.
“Landon?”
I stand. “Shh,” I warn. “Keep walking. Act normal.”
Todd blinks once, twice—then nods sharply. He falls into step beside me without another word, though I can feel his eyes burning holes into the side of my face.
We don’t speak until we’re two blocks away, cutting through a side street lined with food trucks.
“What the hell happened?” Todd whispers fiercely. “I’ve been texting you for days. You just disappeared. I thought… I thought somethingawful?—”
“I’m okay,” I say. “But we need to move.Quickly. Your apartment. Now.”
My old friend doesn’t argue. We speed-walk the rest of the way, sticking to side streets, avoiding main intersections. Todd keeps glancing at me, worry etched into every line of his face, but he doesn’t push. Not yet.
