“Sorry,” he says, voice low and weirdly familiar. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I don’t answer, just stare, trying to place his face. He’s older than me, stubble on his jaw, dark hair waving back like he’s in a magazine. His eyes are the same blue I saw in my dream, and he doesn’t look like he’s here to hurt me.
“You alright?” he asks.
I nod, even though I know it’s a lie.
He crouches down, not too close, and studies my face. His gaze lingers on the wound on my forehead.
“You sure?”
I want to tell him no, I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything. But the words freeze in my throat. I just nod again.
He hesitates, then offers a hand. “I’m Hunter.”
The name makes something squeeze inside my chest. I stare at his hand for a long second, then at his face. There’s nothing behind his eyes but concern and a hint of exhaustion.
He gives a small, lopsided smile. “You need a ride, or a place to crash?”
I almost say yes, but a thin trickle of paranoia snakes through me. Don’t trust strangers. My mother told me that, maybe, or maybe it was a teacher, or the TV. But Hunter doesn’t look dangerous. He looks like a man who’s seen too many sad stories tonight.
“Do you know where the hospital is?” I ask, voice thin.
He nods, gets to his feet, and offers his hand again. This time, I take it.
His grip is warm, steady, and it anchors me to the moment. I follow him to the edge of the sidewalk, where his car is parked—a big, expensive-looking SUV, black and gleaming under the shitty sodium lights. He opens the passenger door, waits for me to slide in, then walks around to the driver’s side.
Inside, the heater is blasting, and I sink into the leather seat, fighting the urge to cry again.
Hunter glances at me as he starts the engine. “You sure you’re alright?”
I nod, staring at my hands.
He waits a beat, then pulls away from the curb. For the first time all night, I feel almost safe.
I don’t know what happens next, but for now, I let the city blur past, and I close my eyes, hoping that when I open them, I’ll remember who I am.
I tryto memorize the shape of every streetlight, every sagging power line, so if I do forget my way again, maybe I can find the pattern. Hunter parks two blocks from the hospital’s main entrance and walks me to the doors, but when I see the sickly yellow interior lights, the antiseptic shine, I freeze. Something about the hospital terrifies me. I shake my head.
“Wait,” I say, voice too loud. “No. Not here.”
He leans towards me, blue eyes intense. “You’re not well,” he says in a low voice. “Anyone can see that. You need stitches, or a scan, or?—”
“Please.” I wrap my arms tight around my ribcage. The air tastes like chemicals, and the sliding doors whisper open like a mouth about to swallow me. “I can’t. Just… not tonight.”
Hunter frowns, jaw tense. I can tell he wants to argue, but instead, he just says, “Fine. Let’s walk it off.”
We head down the block, side by side but with an entire universe between us. He keeps glancing at my head, but never asks what happened. I half expect him to just ditch me, but he walks the whole time in silence, matching my limping pace.
After three blocks, we hit a park—patches of crusty snow, a jungle gym with blue plastic slides, all of it abandoned. It’s late, maybe eleven, but the city never truly sleeps. There’s a guy on a bench, hunched and picking at the torn fabric on his backpack. As soon as we step off the sidewalk, the guy stands up, quick, and intercepts us with a wide, ugly smile.
“Hey, man, got the time?” he asks, voice slick. He’s short, wiry, with a scruffy beard and a nose that looks freshly broken.
Hunter keeps his distance, body shifting so he’s half in front of me. “It’s late,” he says, flat.
The guy nods, eyes flicking from Hunter’s face to mine. He grins bigger, showing gums. “She your girl?”
Hunter doesn’t answer. He just stares, eyes ice blue, expression locked. The guy circles, trying to angle behind me, and I feel a pulse of adrenaline in my chest. The guy’s hands are in his pockets, but his walk is predatory, shoulders hunched.
