Behind the diner sits a weathered camper, paint peeling, windows cracked. It's barely livable, but it has a bed and a tiny kitchenette. We park our car under a drooping tree, out of sight from the main road.
Inside, Elena checks the dusty cupboards, wrinkling her nose at the musty smell. "We'll lay low here," she murmurs, her voice laced with weariness.
We collapse on the small bed. For a moment, we just breathe, hearts still racing from the past day's chaos. I gaze at her, guilt and longing tangling in my chest. We're fugitives in our own country, all because we couldn't walk away.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number: You can't hide forever. Ice trickles down my spine. I show Elena. She clenches her jaw. "He's playing cat and mouse. Hoping we'll slip."
Silence settles. We cling to the fragile sense of safety, even as dread coils in every corner of our minds. We can't stay hidden forever. The question is… where do we go next?