Jackson lingered just inside Harper's bedroom doorway, the faint glow of his phone screen the only source of light in the dim room.
Shadows from the moonlight slipped through the half-open blinds, casting long stripes across the scattered pens and books strewn on the desk. The room smelled faintly of strawberry shampoo and the lingering trace of vanilla-scented candles Harper sometimes lit when she was alone.
His heart tightened as he noticed the bed was perfectly made—no sign Harper had been back since she left hours ago. Normally, she would have slipped in and out quietly, or left a note, or at least sent a quick text. But the silence felt thick, almost suffocating.
Jackson's fingers trembled slightly as he scrolled through their recent messages again. The last few texts had been tense, vague, and then nothing. No reply. His worry coiled tighter, knotting painfully in his stomach.
He finally broke the silence, his voice barely a whisper as if saying it out loud might shatter the fragile stillness.
He pulled his phone closer and typed a message, fingers hesitating.
"Harper, please hurry home. I'm getting worried about you. Please be safe. Text me back."
Jackson crossed the room and glanced out the window, the street below quiet and empty. The house felt unusually still, like it was holding its breath too.
His eyes drifted back to Harper's bed—pristine, untouched. He bit his lip, a pang of helplessness washing over him. Harper was the strong one, always pushing through whatever life threw at her, but tonight.. tonight something felt different.
She had that look in her eyes earlier—the kind that said she was carrying a lot.
He sank down onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His fingers gripped the soft blanket as he tried to steady his racing thoughts.
The quiet creaks of the old house settling felt endless.
The cold night air bit sharply at their skin as Harper and Veronica tore through the dense underbrush, branches scraping their arms and tangled roots threatening to trip them with every frantic step. The dark woods that had once felt like a cage now seemed to breathe around them—alive, vast, and full of possibility.
Veronica's chest heaved with exertion, her breath coming fast and uneven, but something wild flickered in her eyes. She was laughing—a breathless, incredulous sound, as if she still couldn't quite believe the reality of their escape.
"I'm actually out!" she gasped, voice trembling with shock and disbelief.
"I mean—how did this even happen? I thought that place had me, locked up for good."
Harper's laugh was softer, a shaky exhale of relief that mingled with the rhythmic pounding of their feet on the leaf-strewn ground. The night smelled of pine and wet earth, and the distant city lights were faint but promising.
But suddenly, Veronica's laughter faltered, breaking apart under the weight of everything she'd held in. Tears welled up, shimmering in the dim light as they spilled over, streaking down her cheeks. Her breath hitched, and she stopped moving, trembling.
Harper's heart clenched at the sudden vulnerability. Without hesitation, she slowed and closed the space between them in a few quick strides. Arms wrapping firmly around Veronica's shaking shoulders, she pulled her into a tight embrace.
Veronica buried her face into Harper's collarbone, the tears soaking into fabric as her body sagged against Harper's. The sobs came in small, shaky bursts, releasing a year of fear and pain in that one moment. Harper held her without a word, feeling the fragile thread of hope beginning to stitch itself back together between them.
After a long minute, Veronica's crying slowed, and she pulled back slightly, her red-rimmed eyes meeting Harper's with a mixture of gratitude and lingering disbelief.
They stood there in the shadows of the trees, the quiet night pressing in around them. The distant hum of streetlights flickered ahead, marking the edge of the woods where civilization—and hopefully freedom—awaited.
Side by side, still clutching each other's hands, they broke into a slower, steadier run toward a nearby bus stop glowing softly under a cracked streetlamp.
The cold metal bench looked worn and abandoned, but to them it was a refuge, a temporary island of normalcy in a world that had been anything but.
They collapsed onto the bench, breath still ragged but calmer now. Harper glanced at Veronica's face, the traces of tears and laughter mingling in her tired eyes. The silence stretched comfortably between them, filled with unspoken promises and the fragile hope of new beginnings.
Neither knew exactly what came next, but in this moment, with the night wrapping around them like a shield, Harper got somebody out—and it wasn't Riley.
Their bus lurched to a stop under the flickering streetlight after a while, its rusty metal groaning as the doors wheezed open.
Harper's breath caught in her throat. She hesitated just a second, as if waiting for something—maybe for the fear to catch up, or the reality to sink in—but it didn't. Instead, the cold night air rushed in, sharp and biting, and she stepped down onto the cracked pavement, boots crunching softly on the gravel.
Behind her, Veronica gave a small, tense nod from the bus window, eyes wide but steady. Harper returned the gesture—a silent promise—and then turned away, her footsteps echoing down the empty street.
Ahead, the fainted sign of a diner buzzed faintly in the darkness, a warm pool of light against the night. She pushed open the door, the bell above chiming softly, and was immediately wrapped in the comforting scent of coffee, grease, and chatter.
The world inside was loud, chaotic in comparison, but it felt like a sanctuary.
She slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl sticky beneath her fingers. Her eyes dropped to her hands resting on the table—muddy, scratched, stained with the grime of escape. She traced the dirt with her fingertips, the sensation grounding her.
For a long moment, she just sat there, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest.
She thought about Riley—the way her smile had flickered so briefly before the darkness swallowed it again. The other girls, too. All still trapped. All still fighting battles Harper could only glimpse at now from outside the walls.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream at the unfairness, to promise herself she'd come back for them, save them all. But beneath that fierce hope simmered the harsh truth.. she was only one person, fragile and flawed and scared.
Harper leaned forward, resting her forehead lightly against the cool glass of the window, the muffled city sounds a strange comfort.