Chapter 45

I lingered there for a moment longer, forehead pressed to the cold wood, letting my breathing steady. My fingers clenched the edge of the oversized T-shirt the motel manager had lent me, the fabric soft but foreign. Everything about this place was foreign—yet safer than the hell I’d crawled out of.

Finally, I peeled myself away from the door and made my way to the tiny sink in the corner. Splashing cold water on my face, I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror. My eyes looked hollow, rimmed with shadows and sleepless nights. But underneath the exhaustion, there was something else. Something I hadn’t seen in a long time.

Fire.

I dried my face with a napkin, pulled my hair back into a loose knot, and walked out into the hallway.

The motel’s kitchen was small, cluttered, and smelled faintly of stale oil and something fried. The manager—a man in his late fifties with kind eyes and a cigarette always tucked behind his ear—was seated on a stool, peeling potatoes like he’d been waiting.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, not looking up.

I gave a small nod. “Just tired.”

He handed me a box of vegetables and gestured toward the stove. “Well, make something warm. Something you’d eat at home.”

Home.

The word made something in my chest tighten. Home hadn’t been a place—it had been my mother’s voice, my best friend’s laughter, the silence of freedom. Things I’d lost. Things I was fighting to find again.

I started chopping, letting the rhythm of the knife calm me. The sizzle of oil in the pan, the scent of onions and garlic—it all grounded me. For a few moments, I wasn’t a girl running from a monster. I was just a woman making dinner in a quiet place.

He watched me work but didn’t ask questions, and I was grateful for that. The silence between us felt like a truce. He got a meal, and I got a place to sleep—a fragile arrangement I needed to make last.

As I stirred the pot, my mind wandered again.

Would Adrik know by now?

Had he torn the mansion apart searching for me?

My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the salt. I tried to imagine his face when he found the room empty, the guards clueless, the van long gone.

By the time I finished cooking, the scent of spiced rice and fried plantains filled the cramped kitchen. It reminded me so much of home that it nearly shattered me. I blinked fast, refusing to let tears fall, and plated the food with trembling hands.

The man—Samuel, he’d finally introduced himself as—gave me a small, appreciative smile. “You cook like someone who’s been through something.”

I didn’t answer. I just sat across from him, watching him eat, listening to the soft hum of an old radio playing highlife music in the background. Every second that passed without sirens or Adrik’s cold voice felt like stolen time.

When Samuel was done, he gave me a nod toward the hallway. “Go rest. You’ve done enough for tonight.”

I nodded, whispered a soft “Thank you,” and walked back to the room.

The moment I locked the door behind me, I collapsed onto the bed. My bones ached, but my mind wouldn’t rest. I kept picturing the look on Adrik’s face the moment he realized I was gone—the rage in his eyes, the promises of pain he’d made the last time I’d tried to defy him.

I curled into the sheets and pressed my face into the pillow, the soft scent of detergent wrapping around me like a stranger’s embrace.

And then I heard it.

Not from the door.

Not from the window.

But from inside my head.

His voice.

Low. Icy. Steady.

“You thought you could run from me?”

I jolted upright, panting. Just a memory. Just a memory.

I knew I couldn’t stay here forever. He’d find me eventually. I needed a plan—somewhere far, somewhere quiet. Somewhere he couldn’t reach me.

But for now, I had a door that locked, a room that wasn’t his, and hours ahead that were still mine.

As I stepped into the kitchen the next morning, the soft creak of the floorboards under my feet made me pause for a second, half-expecting the sound of Adrik’s footsteps behind me. But the only thing that followed me was Elsa, hopping along curiously, her little nose twitching at the scent of fried eggs and something sweet. She always seemed to know when food was near.

Samuel was already by the stove, stirring something in a pan. He turned when he saw me and smiled, the kind of tired smile you give when you’ve seen too much of life but still choose kindness.

“Morning,” he said, lifting a spoonful of stew to taste. “You hungry?”

Before I could answer, Elsa nudged my leg and then darted toward him, sniffing around his boots.

I smiled despite myself. “That’s Elsa,” I said softly. “She’s… mine. Kind of.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A rabbit?” He crouched a little, watching her as she cautiously hopped closer to him. “Well, aren’t you something.” He reached down, slowly, and let her sniff his fingers. She didn’t shy away.

“She’s the only thing that’s been there for me lately,” I muttered, barely audible, but I knew he heard it.

“Seems like she knows,” he said, then motioned toward a stool at the counter. “Come, eat. You look like the wind could carry you away.”

I hesitated. I wasn’t used to kindness without an edge. Not anymore.

He noticed. “It’s just food, dear. I won’t bite.”

I sat. He placed a warm plate in front of me—yam porridge with vegetables, and some fried plantains on the side. I hadn’t tasted food like that since my mother’s kitchen. I blinked fast again, that same pressure building behind my eyes.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

We ate mostly in silence, Elsa sitting by my feet like a little guardian. For a few minutes, the world didn’t feel like it was crumbling. For a few minutes, I wasn’t running—I was just a girl, with a rabbit, sharing breakfast with someone who didn’t want anything from me.

I was halfway through the meal when Samuel leaned against the kitchen counter, a distant look in his eyes as he watched me eat. I tried not to notice, but it was hard to ignore the way his expression shifted—like he was staring at a ghost.

“You remind me of someone,” he said suddenly, his voice rougher this time.

I looked up, unsure what to say. “Oh?”

He nodded slowly, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn photo. He walked over and set it gently beside my plate. In the picture was a girl—around my age, with a soft smile and eyes that mirrored mine in a way that made my chest ache.

“She was my daughter,” he said. “Died a few years ago. Wrong place, wrong time.”

I swallowed hard, guilt curling in my gut. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

He waved a hand gently. “It’s not your fault. Just life being cruel. But when I saw you last night… the way you held that rabbit, the way you looked so damn lost—I don’t know, it just… it felt like I had to do something.”

I didn’t know what to say. No one had said anything like that to me in a long time. No one had looked at me and seen anything other than Adrik’s possession.

Samuel reached out and gave Elsa a small piece of fruit from the counter, chuckling as she sniffed it before nibbling. “She’s a good little thing. You take care of her, yeah?”

I nodded, barely holding my voice steady. “I do.”

Then he looked at me again, softer this time. “You can stay here, as long as you want. No questions, no pressure. Just… help me around here a bit. Cook, maybe sweep sometimes. You’ll have a roof, food, and quiet.”

Tears stung my eyes before I could stop them. I nodded again, unable to speak.

“Thank you,” I finally whispered, my throat tight.

Samuel’s words clung to me like a warm blanket, but the chill of reality crept in just as quickly. As kind as he was—as safe as this place felt for the moment—I knew I couldn’t stay. Not forever. Not even for long.

“I… I can’t,” I said quietly, barely above a whisper.

He looked up from where he was wiping down the counter, confusion softening his face. “What do you mean?”

I met his eyes, trying to hold myself together. “I need to leave this city. I don’t know where I’ll go yet, but I know he’ll come looking. He always does. And if he finds me here, I’m scared he’ll hurt you too.”

Samuel sighed and leaned back in his chair, studying me for a long moment. “You’re running from someone dangerous, aren’t you?”

I hesitated, then gave a slow nod.

He didn’t press further. “You’re not the first girl I’ve seen with fear written in her bones.”

His words hit harder than I expected. He understood. Maybe not the details, but the feeling—that constant, suffocating fear—I didn’t have to explain it to him.

“I just… I need to get far away from here,” I said, stroking Elsa’s soft ears as she settled in my lap. “I need to find my mom and disappear for good. Somewhere he won’t ever find me.”

Samuel stood, moving toward the cupboard and grabbing a tin. He popped it open and slid it across the table. Inside were some wrinkled bills—maybe not much, but it was more than I had.

“It’s not a lot,” he said, “but it might get you a bus ticket or something. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

I stared at the money, then back at him. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “But I want to.”

Emotion swelled in my chest, too thick to speak through, so I simply nodded.