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“Hayze,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion, “before we disappear, I need to see them. The people at Wild Trust, my friends... I can’t just vanish without saying goodbye.”
Hayze’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw set in that way it did when he was weighing every outcome. His silence stretched out like the road before us until he finally spoke.
“We’ll tell them we’re going on a road trip,” he said carefully. “Back east, maybe Florida.” He glanced at me with a look that was part resolve, part resignation.
The plan sounded plausible enough. Florida was far enough away to discourage anyone from thinking it was a short-term absence. And yet, it was just a story — our true destination remained shrouded in uncertainty.
The car pulled up outside the Wild Trust office, and my heart raced as if I were about to leap from a cliff rather than step onto familiar ground. Hayze’s hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze before we stepped out into the brisk morning air.
The office was abuzz with activity, but everything quieted down when I walked in. Faces turned toward me — expressions of concern mixed with curiosity at our sudden appearance.
“Hey everyone,” I began, my voice steady despite the tremors inside me. “Hayze and I wanted to let you know we’re planning a long road trip.”
A murmur of surprise rippled through the room as I continued. “We’ve been talking about seeing more of the country, and well, now seems like as good a time as any.”
There were nods and smiles, but also frowns of confusion. We hadn’t been here long enough for such wanderlust to seem typical of us.
“And Florida’s calling our name,” Hayze chimed in with a grin that almost reached his eyes.
Questions bubbled up around us — advice on routes to take, places to visit. We answered each one with practiced ease while avoiding specifics. Every moment was surreal; every word I spoke was another layer in a facade that might crumble at any second.
One by one, my colleagues offered hugs and well-wishes. Each embrace was a lifeline — something real and warm amid the cold mechanics of escape plans and new identities.
As we stepped outside into the gathering crowd from the community who had heard of our leaving, I fought back tears that threatened to betray everything we were trying so hard to hide.
“Take lots of pictures!” someone called out as arms wrapped around me in quick succession — reminders of human connections that were about to be severed.
“We will,” I promised, though I knew any photos we took we wouldn’t share with them.
The farewells continued until there was nothing left to say — until every hug and every reassurance stopped. Hayze stayed close by my side through it all — my sentinel against an unseen storm.
We returned to the car under the guise of excitement for our journey ahead. But as we drove away from those who had become dear to me, each mile added weight to the silence between us — a silence filled not with peace but with unspoken goodbyes and roads untraveled.
CHAPTER 23
Arlet
Rain streaked the windshield as we left the town behind, the lush greenery a blur outside the car window. Seattle loomed ahead, its skyline a jagged silhouette against the gray sky. The city’s hum and bustle was foreign after the tranquility of the forest, and the tightness in my chest told me I was edging closer to a life I’d left behind.
We parked outside a nondescript office building, its facade as forgettable as any identity they’d hand me. Hayze’s hand brushed mine, a silent reassurance as we entered the lobby.
“Arlet Rune?” A voice sliced through the lobby’s sterile air. Agent Matthews stood there, his suit too crisp, his smile too practiced. “I’m glad you could make it on such short notice.”
We rode up in an elevator filled with the scent of industrial cleaner and an undercurrent of anxiety that I fought to keep at bay. The agent led us down a hallway lined with doors that all looked like barriers to different lives—lives not chosen but assigned.
Inside a room that was all sharp angles and icy surfaces, Matthews gestured to the metal chairs opposite his desk. “Please, sit.”
Hayze’s gaze locked on mine for a moment before we both took our seats.
“Arlet,” Matthews began, shuffling papers as if they held my fate within their lines and margins. “The situation is precarious. West Corp employees are bound to talk once they’re released.”
“I understand,” I replied, my voice steady despite the tumult inside me.
He leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk. “You’ll need to change your name again. It’s not negotiable.”
A spark ignited within me—a blend of frustration and defiance. “No.” The word came out sharper than I intended.
Matthews raised an eyebrow. “It’s for your safety?—”
