Chapter 147
Elara's POV
On the tenth morning, Kiki burst through the door, breathless and grinning.
"There's a market tomorrow!" he announced. "Traders coming from the next town. They always give rides if you ask."
I looked at Lynette. She nodded.
"Tomorrow, then," I said.
We left at dawn. I'd packed light—just essentials, things we could carry without slowing down. Lynette wore the jacket Martha had mended for her, the one that covered most of the bandages. She moved carefully, but she moved.
When we stepped outside, half the village was waiting.
I stopped. So did Lynette.
Martha stood at the front, arms crossed. Kiki bounced beside her, trying and failing to look casual. Behind them, the other villagers—the ones who'd watched us with suspicion for days—stood silent.
Martha stepped forward. Held out a cloth bundle. "Food. For the road."
I took it. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." She looked between us. "You're walking into trouble, aren't you?"
I didn't lie. "Yes."
"Thought so." She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket, pressed it into my hand. "If trouble finds us instead, we'll need a way to reach you."
I unfolded it. Blank. I pulled out my pen, wrote down an encrypted number—one that routed through three different relays before reaching a burner phone I kept for emergencies.
"This number," I said, handing it back. "If anything happens—anything at all—you call it. I'll come."
Martha studied the paper, then me. "You mean that."
"I do."
She tucked it away. Nodded once. "Hope we never need it."
"Me too."
Kiki pushed forward, craning his neck to look up at me. His earlier excitement had faded into something more serious.
"You're really leaving?" he asked.
"We have to."
"Will you come back?"
I crouched down to his level. "Maybe. Someday."
"Can I come find you? When I'm older?"
I smiled. "If you want."
"I do." He stuck out his pinky finger. "Promise you won't forget me."
I hooked my pinky with his. "Promise. But you have to promise me something too."
"What?"
"Don't do anything stupid trying to prove you're brave. Real courage is staying alive."
He thought about that. Nodded solemnly. "Okay."
"Good."
Lynette stepped up beside me, her hand resting briefly on Kiki's shoulder. "Thank you for being kind to my sister."
He flushed, mumbled something, then darted back to Martha's side.
We walked toward the road. I didn't look back until we reached the edge of the village. When I did, they were still standing there—Martha, Kiki, the others. Watching us go.
I raised my hand once. Then we turned the corner and they were gone.
The trader's wagon was cramped and smelled like livestock, but it got us to the next town by evening. Lynette dozed against my shoulder most of the way, her breathing deep and even.
The town was small—barely more than a cluster of buildings around a single intersection. But it had what I needed: a motel with rooms that rented by the hour and didn't ask questions.
I paid cash from the emergency stash. The clerk didn't even look up.
Inside the room, I locked the door, checked the window, pulled the curtains. Lynette sank onto the bed with a soft groan.
"I'll be right back," I said.
"Where—"
"Stay here. Lock the door behind me. Don't open it for anyone but me."
She nodded, too tired to argue.
I stepped outside, walked two blocks until I found a spot with no cameras or foot traffic. My jacket—the one Martha had returned after drying it—still had the sealed pouch stitched into the inner lining. I'd checked it the first night in the village, but there'd been no signal. Now, one bar flickered on the screen. The burner phone had survived everything. Cole's paranoia paid off. I dialed.
Three rings. Then his voice, low and rough. "You're alive."
"I found her."
Silence. Then: "Condition?"
"Stable. Healing. We need extraction."
"Location?"
I gave him the town name, the motel address.
"Twenty-four hours," he said. "Abandoned gas station, north edge of town."
"We'll be there."
"Elara."
I waited.
"Wild Hunt's offering three million now. They're not giving up."
My hand tightened on the phone. "I know."
"We need to end this."
"I know," I said again. "We will."
He hung up.
I stood there for a moment, listening to the dial tone. Then I walked back to the motel.
Lynette was asleep when I returned. I sat in the chair by the door, knife in my lap, and watched the parking lot through a gap in the curtains.
Twenty-four hours.
Then we'd be on the move again. Heading home. Heading toward whatever came next.
But right now, in this moment, we were safe.
I let myself believe that. Just for tonight.
The next evening, Cole pulled up in a beat-up cargo van that looked like it had survived three wars. I saw him before he saw me—watched him scan the area, check his mirrors, assess threats.
Old habits.
Lynette and I walked out together. She moved slower than yesterday, but she moved. That was enough.
Cole's eyes landed on her. Flicked to me. Back to her.
"She's really—" He stopped. Shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Get in."
He handed me a manila envelope as we climbed into the back. I opened it. Fake IDs, cash, a folded map with a route marked in red.
"Clean identities," he said. "Good for one crossing."
I noticed the bandage on his forearm. "You okay?"
"River wasn't gentle."
"Never is."
Lynette settled against the van's side, eyes already closing. I sat beside her, one hand on the knife hidden in my jacket.
Cole started the engine. "Straight shot to the border. Six hours if we don't stop."
"Then don't stop."
He pulled onto the road. The town disappeared behind us.
I watched the side mirror. Empty highway. No headlights following.
Not yet.
Beside me, Lynette's breathing evened out into sleep. I let my hand rest on her shoulder—proof she was real, she was here, she was alive.
Cole caught my eye in the rearview mirror. Didn't say anything. Didn't need to.
We both knew what was waiting for us back home. The explanations we'd have to give. The lies we'd have to tell. The target that would never leave Lynette's back as long as Wild Hunt existed.
But we'd deal with it. Together.
Because that's what family did.
The van hummed beneath us. The road stretched ahead, dark and endless.
And for the first time in weeks, I let myself breathe.