The cameras were waiting.
They lined the sidewalk outside the hospital like predators in clean suits and pressed jackets, microphones ready, lenses fixed on every door.
By the fourth day, Sarah's rescue had become national news.
"Kidnapping Survivor Freed."
"Rogue Detective on the Run."
"Multi-State Manhunt Intensifies."
Her name trended online.
Her college campus issued a statement.
Friends posted emotional messages.
Strangers debated her story in comment threads.
Inside the hospital room, Sarah stared at the muted television mounted high in the corner.
A reporter stood outside the very building she was in.
"We are awaiting a statement from Sarah Johnson, who has been recovering here for several days. Sources confirm she may be discharged soon—"
Molly reached for the remote and shut it off.
"You don't need that."
Sarah nodded faintly.
"I'm not talking to them."
"You don't have to."
"If I do," Sarah whispered, "he'll see it."
Molly didn't argue.
Because she knew it was true.
Jack had followed social media before.
He had known about their trip.
He had tracked patterns.
Public attention wasn't just exposure.
It was fuel.
"I don't want him thinking I'm okay without him," Sarah said quietly.
The words made Molly's chest tighten.
"You don't owe him anything."
"I know."
But fear didn't always follow logic.
"What if he thinks I'm happy?" Sarah continued. "What if he thinks I'm moving on?"
Molly studied her carefully.
"He knows you are."
Sarah looked down at her hands.
"I'm not sure he does."
A soft knock came at the door.
Brian stepped in cautiously.
He looked tired.
More tired than before.
"They're increasing security for your discharge," he said gently.
Sarah nodded.
"I'm not speaking to anyone."
"That's fine," he replied immediately.
"We'll escort you through a secure exit."
Sarah swallowed.
"He's still out there."
"Yes."
"You think he's watching the news?"
Brian hesitated only slightly.
"It's possible."
Sarah looked at Molly.
"Then I'm not giving him anything."
That afternoon, hospital security coordinated with law enforcement to establish a controlled discharge route.
No front entrance.
No press conference.
No statement.
When the time came, Sarah wore oversized sunglasses and a hooded sweatshirt. Molly walked beside her, arm linked tightly.
Their parents flanked them on either side.
They exited through a service corridor into an unmarked vehicle waiting behind the building.
Cameras still caught glimpses.
Blurry footage.
Speculation.
Commentary.
Inside the vehicle, Sarah closed her eyes and leaned back.
"I just want to go home."
"You are," Molly whispered.
That evening, back at a secured temporary residence in Branson, Molly approached Brian alone.
He stood outside on the porch, staring at nothing in particular.
The sky was heavy with late summer humidity.
"We're leaving tomorrow," Molly said quietly.
He turned toward her.
"Back to Carbondale?"
"Yes."
"It's probably best."
She nodded.
"It's time."
He waited for her to continue.
"We need to get back to school," she said. "We can't just sit suspended in this forever."
"I understand."
"I have my job waiting."
He blinked slightly.
"You do?"
"Yes."
"I was working part-time at Harper & Cole Designs before all of this. They held my position."
"That's good."
"I'm studying interior design," she added. "I want my own firm one day."
He gave a faint smile.
"I remember you telling me."
She folded her arms lightly across her chest.
"Sarah still has her campus job, too. We're… lucky."
"Yes," he said quietly. "You are."
There was a pause.
Heavy but not hostile.
"I think going home is the only way we can start feeling normal again," she continued.
"Normal might take time."
"I know."
He stepped a little closer, but not too close.
"We'll keep coordination with Illinois authorities," he said. "You'll have patrol awareness. Quiet protection."
She nodded.
"And when this calms down," he added carefully, "we'll talk."
Her eyes flickered up to meet his.
"Talk about what?"
"Us."
The word lingered between them.
"There's too much heat right now," he continued. "Internal Affairs is watching. The press is watching. I can't afford anything that compromises the case."
She held his gaze.
"I understand."
And she did.
Even if it hurts.
He stepped closer this time, just slightly.
"I never dismissed what happened between us."
Her voice was steady.
"You didn't confirm it either."
He didn't have an answer for that.
Not one he could say out loud.
"I need to end this," he said quietly. "Completely."
She nodded once.
"For Sarah."
"For Sarah."
They stood in silence for a long moment.
Not touching.
Not retreating.
Just suspended in something unfinished.
Finally, she stepped back.
"Take care of yourself, Detective."
"You too, Molly."
The formality stung.
But it was safer.
That night, Sarah lay awake in the guest bedroom.
Molly slept in the bed beside her.
The house was quiet.
But Sarah wasn't relaxed.
Every sound still registered.
Every car that passed.
Every shift of air.
Her phone buzzed once on the nightstand.
She froze.
Molly stirred beside her.
"Probably campus group chat," Molly murmured half-asleep.
Sarah slowly reached for the phone.
It was a notification.
A news update.
"Manhunt Continues."
She turned the screen off without reading further.
She wouldn't give him her fear.
She wouldn't give him her face on television.
She wouldn't give him anything.
Miles away, in a roadside motel with peeling paint and flickering fluorescent lights, Jack sat on the edge of a bed watching the news.
Muted.
Closed captions scrolling beneath.
Footage of Sarah entering the vehicle at the hospital.
Blurry.
Brief.
But enough.
He leaned closer to the screen.
She wore sunglasses.
Hood up.
Hidden.
His jaw tightened.
"They're hiding you," he muttered softly.
His reflection stared back at him from the darkened television screen.
Tired.
Unshaven.
Eyes sharper than before.
He turned the volume on just enough to hear.
"…Johnson family expected to return to Illinois—"
His expression shifted.
Illinois.
Carbondale.
Home.
He leaned back slowly.
"You don't get to reset," he whispered to the empty room.
Outside the motel, a semi-truck roared down the highway.
Inside, Jack stared at the screen long after the segment ended.
The manhunt was expanding.
But so was his fixation.
And if Sarah believed distance meant safety—
She was wrong.
Back in Branson, Brian stood alone in his apartment that night.
The house felt empty.
Too quiet.
He replayed the porch conversation in his mind.
We'll talk when this calms down.
But something told him—
It wouldn't calm down.
Not fully.
Not while Jack was breathing.
He stared at the map on his dining table.
Illinois circled now.
Because if Jack followed fixation—
He would follow her.
And that meant this wasn't ending.
It was relocating.