Grayford wasn't on most maps anymore.
It wasn't much of a town—just a handful of brick buildings, a general store, a few boarded-up houses, and a grain tower that loomed over it all like a monument to something long dead.
Jayden and Layla came in on foot, keeping to the alleys. The sky was the color of steel, clouds gathering low. Every sound echoed too loud in the empty streets.
Layla pulled her hood tighter. "Looks like the kind of place where time gave up."
Jayden scanned the windows. "That's good. Dead towns don't ask questions."
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that the town was watching them—through cracked glass, behind faded curtains, under the hum of invisible machines.
---
The Broadcast
They stopped at a gas station that looked half-alive—one pump still working, a sign flashing COLD DRINKS in dim blue.
Inside, the shelves were mostly bare. An old radio crackled behind the counter, static and soft voices cutting in and out.
The clerk—a woman in her sixties with a face carved by wind—watched them like she'd seen a thousand stories like theirs and believed none of them.
Jayden paid cash for water and a pack of crackers. As she counted change, the radio's static deepened, then sharpened into words.
> "—two fugitives believed to have escaped from juvenile containment in the central district—Jayden Carter, twenty-two, and his sister, Layla Carter, nineteen—last seen heading west—"
Layla froze.
The woman's eyes flicked up, slow and deliberate.
Jayden reached across the counter, turned the radio's dial, pretending calm. "This thing always play old ghosts?"
The clerk smiled thinly. "Only when it wants to."
He dropped the money on the counter. "Keep the change."
They left fast, the door's bell ringing too loud behind them.
Outside, the wind carried the rest of the broadcast—half-eaten by static.
> "—armed, dangerous—approach with cau—"
Layla whispered, "They still care enough to keep talking about us."
Jayden looked down the street. "Or they just don't know how to let go."
---
The House
They followed the note's directions—three blocks past the grain tower, down a narrow road swallowed by weeds. At the end sat a white house with the paint peeling like dry skin. A sign on the fence read MARLA'S ANTIQUES.
The shop was closed, but the front door stood slightly open.
Jayden pushed it wider. "Hello?"
Inside smelled like dust, lavender, and old wood. Glass cases held relics—music boxes, picture frames, chipped porcelain. Everything here seemed preserved, waiting.
Then a voice came from the back room: "Close the door. You're letting the world in."
A woman stepped out—silver hair tied back, long coat patched at the elbows, eyes sharp and bright.
"You must be the Carters," she said.
Layla stiffened. "Who told you that?"
The woman smiled. "A man named Price. Said if you ever made it this far, you'd need help."
Jayden's stomach tightened. Price. That was the name on the envelope. The man from the road.
"You knew him?" Jayden asked.
"I did," Marla said. "He owed me a favor. Looks like he paid it forward."
---
The Shelter
Marla led them upstairs to a small attic room—two beds, a single window facing the grain tower. "You can rest here," she said. "They don't come this far without a reason, and most of the world's too tired to care who's wanted."
Layla dropped her bag. "Thank you."
Marla nodded. "Don't thank me yet. Rest is only worth what you do with it."
She left them alone.
Jayden sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. "You trust her?"
Layla shrugged. "You don't?"
"I trust that she doesn't care enough to lie. That's good enough."
---
The Frequency
It was almost dark when Jayden woke to the sound of static.
He sat up, frowning. The radio in the corner—the kind with dials and a cracked speaker—was on, though he hadn't touched it.
Layla stirred. "What's that?"
The voice came again, faint through the hiss.
> "Jayden Carter. Layla Carter. You're not free."
Jayden's blood went cold.
He got up, twisted the dial. The signal jumped between frequencies—voices whispering, overlapping.
> "You think you've run far enough."
"The system doesn't forget its children."
Layla stood beside him. "Jay, turn it off."
He did—but the whispering didn't stop right away. It faded like a breath.
They stared at each other.
Finally, Jayden said, "They're just rerunning the broadcast. Some freak interference."
Layla didn't look convinced. "It said your name, Jay."
He sat back on the bed, rubbing his face. "Machines remember things people shouldn't. That's all."
But in his chest, something heavy settled—the sense that no matter how far they ran, the world still had its hand on the dial.
---
The Visitor
Later, when the house was quiet, footsteps creaked downstairs.
Jayden tensed. He motioned for Layla to stay put and crept to the landing. Through the slats of the stair rail, he saw Marla by candlelight, talking softly into an old CB radio.
Her voice was low but sharp.
> "Yeah. They're here. Both of them."
Jayden's pulse slammed.
> "No, not yet," she continued. "I want to see if they'll run again first."
He froze in the dark, her words sinking like stones.
When she turned off the radio, he slipped back into the room before she noticed.
Layla was sitting up, eyes wide. "What is it?"
He shook his head slowly. "We're leaving. Now."
---
The Escape
They packed in silence, every movement careful. The house creaked with old bones.
Jayden led the way down the stairs. The front door was a few feet ahead—then came the voice from behind.
"You won't make it far if you keep running."
Marla stood in the doorway, the candlelight catching the edges of her face. She wasn't angry—just tired, like someone watching the end of a story she already knew.
Jayden said, "You working with them?"
She shook her head. "I'm working around them. There's a difference."
Layla stepped forward. "What does that mean?"
Marla's eyes softened. "You think I can't hear the same ghosts you do? The system isn't just men with badges. It's memory. Machines. Stories that outlive you."
Jayden's hand twitched near his wrench. "Then why warn them?"
"I didn't. I just needed to know if you'd fight for more than survival."
Layla frowned. "And?"
Marla blew out the candle. "Now I do."
When the room plunged into darkness, Jayden grabbed Layla's wrist and ran.
---
The Road Back
They didn't stop until Grayford was a smear of light behind them. The night air hummed with distant static, like the echo of the radio still following them.
Layla finally broke the silence. "What did she mean?"
Jayden looked toward the stars, breath steadying. "I think she meant we're not done running. But now we get to choose where."
Layla smiled faintly. "You think the system really forgets?"
He shook his head. "No. But maybe one day, it'll stop recognizing us."
They walked until dawn, the sky bleeding pale over the horizon.
And somewhere behind them, in a quiet antique shop full of broken things, an old radio whispered their names into the static again—
like ghosts refusing to fade.