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I could find her in less than ten minutes.

My hand moves toward the gearshift.

Then stops.

What the fuck would I say?

Hey, Chaos. Sorry I fucked you and disappeared. I've been hiding in a cabin and watching your Instagram under the name James Miller.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

I drop my hand.

She doesn't know who I am. Not really.

She knows my name’s Roman.

That I kill people.

Or she thinks I do.

She’s not wrong.

She doesn't know how many.

Doesn't know what my life looks like.

Doesn't know I disappear for weeks. Months.

Doesn't know people would use her to get to me if they ever learned she mattered.

And that's the problem.

She matters.

The realization lands without warning.

I go still.

Fuck.

I stare at Callie's frozen face on my screen.

She matters.

That's why I noticed when she stopped looking.

Why I’ve spent days watching her life through a fucking phone.

Why I'm sitting at a gas station in Vermont when I could be halfway to another state.

I close Instagram, start the truck, and pull out.

I don't go to The Crooked Spine.

I tell myself that's the smart choice. Showing up there would raise questions I don't know how to answer yet.

So I drive.