Page 1 of Shadowing You

CHAPTER ONE

Mei Lin inhaled the scents of diesel and old upholstery as she would the finest incense, watching the skyscrapers shrink in the rear window—and willing the bus to move faster.

She’d been out less than four hours, and she still half-believed she’d wake up any minute from the cruel dream.

The new warden—a thin woman whose tight bun highlighted her stark features—had summoned Mei Lin that morning and said, without looking up from her desk, that there was no documentation to support her detention. No intake forms. No court order. No record of Mei Lin’s name in any official register. The warden had spoken as she might have about a scheduling error, utterly unconcerned.

A small inconvenience, easily corrected.

Then she’d slid a manila envelope across the desk. When their eyes met for a blink, Mei Lin saw a flash of concern and compassion, gone so fast she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.

Mei Lin hadn’t dared to reach for the envelope. She’d learned her lesson about yearning for things, about asking questions. She’d learned to stifle her curiosity—and her hope.

“Go on,” the warden had said. “It’s yours.”

Mei Lin did what she was told.

She clutched the envelope in her lap now, checking it every few seconds to make sure everything was still there.

Her passport—stamped and valid—her national ID, and her cell phone, which had a crack in the screen, the result of her dropping it from her moped in 2020. The envelope also included some cash—four hundred yuan in mixed bills, worn soft. Had it been the warden’s money? Remembering her look of compassion, Mei Lin thought so.

It had paid for a ticket out of town. She might be able to squeeze a few meals out of what was left, but it wouldn’t last long. It wouldn’t get her out of China and to the life in the West she’d once planned.

The final things she’d found in the envelope were her engagement ring and wedding band, both barely worn.

The rings were too large now, sliding on her bony finger, and she worried they’d fall off if she didn’t pay attention. She should put them somewhere safe.

But safe didn’t exist for Mei Lin.

The sparkling diamond blurred in her vision. She’d believed everything Ethan had said to her. She’d been so sure of his love.

The bus lurched in traffic, and she snapped her gaze up, covering the rings with her other hand. But there was no sense hiding them now.

A camera was bracketed at the front corner of the bus, its small red light steady. She’d counted four on the platform before she’d boarded. Two on the bridge they’d just passed under. In the years she’d been inside, her country had changed—and not for the better. She’d heard that officials had used the pandemic as an excuse to step up monitoring. There were lenses everywhere, logging face after face after face.

She knew exactly why she’d been trapped in that prison—and exactly who had arranged it. The question was, did Dr. Lu Feng know she’d been released? Was he already searching for her?

This time, if he caught up with her, he wouldn’t take the chance that she’d get free again. He’d kill her. Or worse—send her wherever he’d sent all the others. Why hadn’t he done that in the first place? He would have been rid of her and made a little money for his trouble.

Thank You, Lord.

Because there were worse things than prison. There were worse things than death.

When Mei Lin was first imprisoned, her emotions would swing between blind hope—“Of course he’ll come for me”—and deep despair—“I will die in this place.”

When she swung low, when she was so low she could barely force herself out of bed, when she cried until her tears soaked the thin mattress, Āyí, the old woman who’d shared Mei Lin’s narrow bunk for years, would take her hand and whisper in her ear. “The Lord sees you. The Lord knows you. The Lord loves you. And we will not die here.”

Āyí had been so certain.

Three years later, Āyí lay beside her on their shared bunk, small and still—and cold. Before Mei Lin touched her, she knew her friend was gone.

Mei Lin had held her cold hand one last time and prayed for the family who would receive word. Then she’d knocked on the cell door and told the guard, and that had been the end of it.

Āyí had died there, despite her certainty that she wouldn’t.

That was when Mei Lin had quit grieving and quit hoping. The Lord was with her, and for whatever reason, He didn’t rescue her. After six long years behind bars, her only prayer was that God would take her home.

Here she was, though. Out of prison.