Night falls. We eat canned soup warmed on a battered hotplate, trying to ignore the griminess. A tense quiet envelops us. Elena's eyes keep darting to the curtained windows. Every passing headlight outside makes my pulse spike.
Around midnight, we hear voices. Footsteps crunch on gravel. We freeze, lights off. My heart thunders. Peering through a gap in the curtain, I see two silhouettes approaching the diner.
One tries the diner's locked door, cursing softly. The other wanders toward the camper. I swallow hard, panic rising. Elena grips my arm, eyes pleading. We can't be discovered.
A flashlight beam sweeps across the camper's door. We hold our breath. The handle rattles, but it's locked. After a moment of muttered frustration, they retreat. We remain motionless until the rumble of an engine fades away.
Releasing a shaky exhale, I realize we're both trembling. "Vasquez's men?" I whisper. Elena shakes her head, uncertain. Could be drifters or curiosity seekers. Either way, our sanctuary isn't safe. We can't risk staying much longer.