The pickup truck rattled over another pothole, jolting Kai Thompson awake from the half-doze he'd fallen into somewhere outside Billings. He rubbed his eyes and stared out the windshield at the endless stretch of two-lane highway flanked by snow-dusted pines. Montana in early fall looked nothing like Chicago. No sirens, no corner stores blasting music, no crowds. Just quiet, broken only by the low growl of the engine and the occasional whistle of wind through the cracked window.
His dad, Marcus, kept both hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead. The man hadn't said much since they'd left the city three days ago. Not that Kai expected a heart-to-heart; Marcus Thompson communicated in actions more than words. A former Marine, he'd raised Kai alone after Mom died six years ago, teaching him how to throw a proper jab before he could drive, how to break down and clean a rifle before he could shave. "Stand up for yourself and what's yours, son," he'd say, voice low and even. "World don't give nothing away."
Kai shifted in the passenger seat, the worn leather creaking under him. He was eighteen now, a senior in whatever passed for high school out here, but he still felt twelve sometimes—like the day the cancer finally took his mom and the apartment went too quiet. He pushed the memory down. New start. That's what his dad kept calling it.
Marcus had inherited the place from an old squad mate who'd passed last winter: a rundown cabin on ten wooded acres, plus a small auto garage on the edge of what the map called Hollow Ridge. Population 412, if the faded sign back at the county line was accurate. Barely a town. One gas station, one diner, one blinking stoplight. The kind of place people left, not moved to.
"We're close," Marcus said, breaking the silence. His voice was gravel and calm, the same tone he'd used teaching Kai how to clinch in Muay Thai or trap hands in Wing Chun. "Ten more minutes."
Kai nodded. "Cell service still dead?"
"Pretty much. You'll live."
Kai almost smiled. Almost.
The truck turned off the highway onto a narrower road that wound uphill through thicker forest. Sunlight flickered through the branches, painting moving shadows across the dashboard. Eventually the trees parted, revealing the cabin: single-story, weathered cedar siding, tin roof patched in places. A detached garage sat fifty yards off, its roll-up door half open. Behind the buildings, the land sloped down toward a dark lake framed by more pines. Beautiful, in a lonely kind of way.
Marcus killed the engine. For a moment they just sat, listening to the tick of cooling metal.
"Home," Marcus said finally.
Kai exhaled. "Yeah."
They climbed out. The air smelled sharp—pine sap, cold earth, faint woodsmoke from somewhere distant. Kai grabbed his duffel from the truck bed while Marcus hauled a toolbox. Inside, the cabin was exactly what he'd expected: dusty plank floors, stone fireplace, kitchen the size of a closet. Two small bedrooms branched off the main room. Simple. Fixable.
Marcus dropped the toolbox with a thud. "We'll get the rest tomorrow. For now, let's clear the cobwebs and fire up the heat."
Kai set his bag in the smaller bedroom—his, apparently—and looked out the window toward the tree line. Somewhere out there was a town, a school, people he didn't know. He wondered what they'd think of a black kid from the city showing up senior year. Probably the same thing they thought of any outsider: curiosity first, suspicion second.
He pushed the thought aside and went to help his dad. There'd be time to figure it out. For now, there was work to do.
As evening settled, they got the propane heater running and ate cold-cut sandwiches on the porch steps. The sky turned deep indigo, stars punching through one by one. No light pollution. Kai could see the Milky Way like a faint river overhead.
Marcus spoke into the quiet. "School bus comes at seven-thirty. Principal said it's a forty-minute ride. Small school—maybe thirty in your grade total."
Kai nodded. "Got it."
His dad studied him for a second. "You good?"
Kai met his eyes. "Yeah, Dad. I'm good."
Marcus gave a short nod, the closest he ever came to affection in public. "Alright. Early night, then."
They went inside. Kai lay on the narrow bed in his new room, listening to the unfamiliar sounds: wind in the pines, something small scurrying in the walls, his own breathing. He thought about his mom humming in the kitchen while she cooked, about the way the city never really slept. Then he thought about tomorrow—new faces, new rules, new everything.
He closed his eyes.
Whatever came, he'd handle it. He'd been taught how.