[EVA]
It was fortunate — almost prophetic — that I had lied about my paycheck.
Something in me… a whisper of warning perhaps, urged me to prepare for the worst. And now that moment had arrived.
With trembling fingers, I withdrew the last remnants of my earnings — a mere fifteen thousand. Small. Insufficient for a new life. And yet… it was all I had that truly belonged to me.
Clutching that thin stack of bills like a lifeline, I hailed a cab and stepped inside without a glance behind me.
I refused to let that house — that prison — carve itself into the story of my escape.
I didn't know what I was doing. Didn't know where I would sleep that night. Didn't know if the plane would even take me. My thoughts spun wildly, colliding in chaos — but beneath the storm of panic, something unimaginable bloomed:
I could breathe.
Truly breathe.
Air filled my lungs without permission. My chest no longer tightened under the weight of their hatred. The night was cold, but every drop of rain felt like absolution.
Maybe it was fate — cruel, cunning fate — that allowed me to overhear their plan to sell me like a broodmare to a wealthy old tyrant with more mistresses than morals.
Maybe it was fate that sent Mr. Jones to me that same day — a man with my grandmother's legacy held in his pristine hands.
It felt as though the universe itself was forcing me toward this province…
The land of my grandmother.
The birthplace of my mother.
And the last remaining proof that I belonged somewhere.
I pulled out my worn wallet and slipped free the only surviving photograph of my parents. The edges curled and frayed, the colors fading like a memory refusing to die.
They were beautiful — hauntingly so.
My father's arm wrapped protectively around my mother. His smile was gentle, yet there was something fierce in his eyes — a storm subdued for her sake alone.
My mother… radiant as moonlight. Her smile carved straight into the heart. A woman who had once been loved beyond measure.
And at the center — a little girl.
Me.
Bright-eyed. Confident. Full of life. A child untouched by cruelty.
She felt like a stranger now. I could not remember her laughter. I could not remember the safety of their embrace. I could not remember the softness of a home that loved me.
My parents were stolen.
My childhood taken.
My heart butchered by the hands of kin.
"If they had lived…" I whispered into the cab's stale air, voice cracking around the edges. "I would have known love. I would never have become like this."
Instead… I learned silence. I learned fear. I learned to disappear.
I closed the photo gently, tucking it back into its fragile throne among old receipts and scribbled papers.
The past was dead.
The ghosts would rest.
Only one path remained now — forward.
I had one month to inherit the estate. One month to earn the right to call something — anything — mine.
After that, I would sell everything and leave this country behind like a fading nightmare. I'd cross oceans, build a life from the ashes of everything they tried to destroy. A life where I was seen. Heard. Wanted.
After all…
There was nothing left for me here.
No love.
No comfort.
No one wanted me here.
I was utterly, painfully alone.
====
[EVA]
Five thousand vanished instantly into the plane ticket — the wings that carried me away from my own personal hell.
What remained of my money jingled faintly in my pocket, barely enough to survive a week in the province.
But survival was better than being sold.
Midnight greeted me when I arrived.
The airport lights flickered like tired sentinels, casting pale halos upon the empty floor. Tres Noches Province was nothing like the sleepless city I had escaped — here the silence was thick and everywhere.
No taxis.
No jeepneys.
Not a single public ride in sight.
Only the distant hum of private engines disappearing into the dark — leaving me stranded between fear and uncertainty.
I had no choice but to wait.
So I curled into a corner of the airport's cold steel chairs, hugging my bag like a shield. Sleep refused to come — shadows stretched too long, silence pressed too deep, and every unfamiliar sound felt like a warning.
But eventually, exhaustion won.
Dawn pulled me awake with gentle fingers — a faint silver glow creeping over the horizon. The moment sunlight broke through the airport windows, the spell of the night shattered. Life slowly emerged: footsteps, conversations, warmth.
I stepped outside and breathed relief as I spotted tricycles waiting. The primary mode of travel here.
"Sir," I called to one of the drivers, showing him the map Mr. Jones gave me. "Can you take me here?"
The man squinted at the paper, his brows knitting tighter the longer he stared.
"Setio Luna?" he said slowly, like the name tasted wrong. "That's far north… another four hours' ride. You'll need to take a bus first, then a tricycle once you get to that town."
"Oh." My voice faltered. "I didn't know it was that far from here. But… can you take me to the bus terminal then?"
He nodded, but he didn't look relieved by my agreement.
Instead, he scratched his head, gaze drifting away like he didn't want to meet mine.
"Miss… if you don't mind me asking… why are you going there?"
I blinked. "My grandmother's hometown. She… she lived there."
His eyes widened a fraction — surprise laced with something like fear.
"I… see. Then it's good you know someone from inside."
I frowned. "Inside?"
The driver hesitated, face tightening.
"Well… Tres Noches isn't a place strangers should wander into overnight."
A chill skittered beneath my skin. "What do you mean? This is Tres Noches province, isn't it?"
"Yes… but this is San Jose," he clarified. "The small capital. This is the only place considered… safe for the ordinary folk."
His voice dropped to a discreet whisper. "Beyond here — that's where the real Tres Noches begins."
His eyes flicked toward the north, as though the very direction held a curse.
Confusion wrapped around me like a cold hand. "I don't understand—"
A long, angry horn blared behind us, forcing him to start the engine.
We reached the bus station in uneasy silence.
Before I stepped out, he spoke — his tone raw with sincerity:
"Be careful."
Careful.
Of what?
Of whom?
But before I could ask, he rode off without a backward glance — as though staying near me any longer might tempt misfortune.
I stood at the terminal clutching my bag, heart pounding far too loudly for the calm morning around me.
Fear — quiet, insidious — crept into my veins. The kind of fear that whispers:
You are walking into something you cannot understand.
I swallowed hard.
But I didn't have much choice. This was my only chance to get out of this country, and away from my relatives.
I boarded the bus.
The journey into Setio Luna had already begun.