Hanna had been adrift in a deep, heavy slumber while the bus sliced through the darkness of the highway. It was the relentless rhythmic flicker of streetlights bleeding through the window that finally forced her eyes open. She blinked repeatedly, fighting the haze of sleep, until her gaze locked onto a single sign.

  Charleston.

  Hanna jolted upright, her exhaustion instantly devoured by awe. Beyond the glass, a tapestry of weathered brick buildings, glowing neon signs, and iron bridges spanning the river unfolded before her. The city felt alive, breathing in a flood of mesmerizing light—a stark, alien contrast to the tiny, suffocating silence of Silverpine.

  Everything here possessed a different pulse. The sidewalks teemed with the kinetic energy of restless crowds, while the streets were choked with strange, unique vehicles she had never seen before. It was her first time witnessing the true scale of a city. She remained pressed against the window, mesmerized by the rows of shops and restaurants overflowing with life, until the bus finally hissed to a halt at its final destination: the Greyhound Station.

  "Last stop!" the driver called out.

  Hanna hurried toward the front. "Excuse me, ma'am. How do I get to Manhattan?"

  The driver looked at her with a weathered, calm expression. "No direct buses to Manhattan, sugar. You’ll need to head to New York City first. From there, it’s just a hop to Manhattan by bus or cab."

  "Is it far?" Hanna asked, a flicker of doubt in her voice.

  "Manhattan is part of New York City, honey."

  Hanna nodded, trying to process the geography of a world she didn't know.

  "First time?" the woman asked, her tone softening into something maternal.

  "Yes."

  A small, knowing smile touched the driver’s lips. "When you get inside, find the ticket counter. Ask for New York. That bus stops in Pittsburgh, so you’ll have to transfer there."

  "Do I need to buy another ticket?"

  "No need."

  Relief washed over Hanna like a cool wave. "Thank you so much."

  "You’re welcome. Safe travels, kiddo," the driver replied.

  Hanna offered a faint smile and stepped down, taking her first tentative steps into the unknown city.

  Hanna hurried toward the station doors, oblivious to the patrol car trailing her from a distance. Sheriff Johnson slowed his vehicle, watching her silhouette through the side window with eyes that were sharp, weary, and heavy with secrets. The moment she vanished behind the glass doors, he hit the brakes and reached for his phone.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Status, Johnson?" a woman’s voice cut through the silence of the car.

  "She’s inside the station," Johnson reported curtly.

  "Good. And the others?"

  Johnson let out a ragged sigh, his eyes never leaving the building. "I got a report of outsiders trying to get emergency treatment at a clinic, but they bolted in a hurry. They’ve already crossed the West Virginia line."

  "They’re coming here," the woman—Jane—said with chilling certainty.

  "You should send a team to Pittsburgh," Johnson suggested.

  The line went quiet for a beat before Jane spoke. "Perhaps not. Leave her be for now. I’ll send someone to intercept her in New York."

  "Do you know who leaked their location yet?"

  "Yes," Jane replied shortly. "Your job is done, Johnson. You can come back in, if you want."

  Johnson stared at the steering wheel, his voice cracking at the edges. "I don’t think so, Jane. I failed. Maybe it’s time I stepped down."

  "It wasn't your fault. It was our mistake," Jane insisted.

  "I can feel the trauma she’s carrying," Johnson whispered, as if speaking to the ghosts in the air. "It’s agonizing. I feel... responsible."

  "I know. I won't force you. Rest for a while and come back when you're ready. Oh, and Johnson? Have they... handled Ronald's funeral?"

  "Yes," he replied. The name felt like a serrated blade to his heart. Ronald hadn't just been a partner; he was a brother-in-arms who had spent eighteen years in the shadows with him, protecting Victoria and Hanna. Now, Ronald was gone—brutally taken by Marcus’s people.

  "He should have kept his distance," Johnson said, his voice thick with regret.

  "What’s done is done. It was an accident, Johnson."

  "It’s never that simple."

  "I understand. Take care of yourself."

  "You too."

  The line went dead. But Sheriff Johnson didn't move. He sat there, a silent sentinel in the dark, watching the station doors to guard Hanna one last time from afar.

  _________

  "Gate two. Wait there, they’ll announce it as soon as the bus arrives," the clerk said, sliding the ticket and change across the counter.

  "Is there a restroom?" Hanna asked.

  "Right toward the back."

  With a quick nod, Hanna headed for the corridor. The hallway was hauntingly quiet, devoid of the station's usual bustle. She quickened her pace until she spotted the silhouette of the ladies' room sign. Just as she reached for the handle, the door swung open from the inside.

  Hanna stepped back, ducking her head to let two women pass before slipping inside.

  "Oh. my hair..." she muttered, catching her reflection. She looked wrecked. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess, as if it hadn't seen a comb in days.

  She cranked the tap, splashing cold water onto her face again and again, letting the chill snap her back to reality. She raked her fingers through her hair, doing what little she could to look presentable.

  As she stood there, staring at the girl in the mirror, a realization struck her. Her senses had dulled. Her sense of smell was no longer screaming; the world felt... normal. There was no overwhelming stench, no suffocating grip on her lungs, even in the stale air of a public restroom.

  But the peace was fleeting. Her mother’s face surged into her mind, unbidden and crushing. Tears began to track slowly down her cheeks. Her thoughts were a tangled web—Where is she? Is she even alive?

  The sound of the door creaking open startled her. Hanna flinched. Through the mirror, she saw two teenagers walking in. She quickly wiped her eyes and bolted for the exit, leaving the girls staring after her with bewildered expressions.

  Once outside, she made a beeline for a small kiosk to grab whatever food and water she could afford. The bus to Pittsburgh was due in thirty minutes. Her stomach twisted in a painful knot of hunger, and her throat felt like parched earth. She hadn't had a single drop of water, let alone a meal, in nearly twenty-four hours.