Page 77 of Shadowed Whispers

Wind whips around my face as I huddle in the corner of the train car. The chilly draft snakes through small gaps, chilling me to the bone. Across from me are other runaways, each a silent testament to hardship. Their faces are grimy, with fatigue etched into the dark circles under their eyes. I burrow deeper under the blanket—the only keepsake from the foster home I fled.

I want to say I didn’t look back, but I did. Bishop helped me leave, though his eyes were full of the sorrow of separation. He didn’t want to see me go, wished I could stay, but fate had other plans for him. He’d just been adopted, and in that newfound joy of his, I found none for myself.

There was nothing there for me. No friends. No parents. Nothing but the echo of emptiness.

The train squeals, a harrowing sound that signals our approach to a stop. Despite some of the others hopping off hastily to evade being caught, I remain seated. I’ve timed it. I have exactly five minutes to disembark and find a hiding spot before the cart is inspected.

My heart rate spikes, adrenaline coursing through me as I watch the others make their escape. It’s smart to wait. There are too many reasons not to rush, too many risks.

As the train grinds to a halt, I push myself upright, clutch my blanket and bag close, and prepare. The sun beats down mercilessly on the barren desert landscape, heat waves rising off the sand in visible shimmers. Exhaling slowly, I gather my courage, jump, and land in a crouch, scanning the desolation.

We are in the middle of nowhere.

Staying close to the train is crucial. I plan to reboard once it’s been inspected. A small station is nearby, so I make my way toward it, aiming for the restrooms. A shiver of unease travels down my spine, a sensation that hasn’t ceased since the day my foster father vanished into the shadows I summoned.

Hyperaware of my surroundings, I step into the bathroom, rushing through my necessities to ensure I don’t miss the train’s departure. As I step outside, I encounter another teen lingering by the door.

“All yours,” I mutter, intent on keeping my distance.

“Wait,” she calls out. Her dark eyes are piercing, and her brown hair cascades over her shoulders. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” I reply, clutching the blanket tighter to my chest, wary of this stranger who is only a few years older than myself.

“Runaway?” Her voice is soft but carries an edge, her lean frame detaching from the wall. Dressed in cargo pants and a black shirt, she doesn’t fit the typical runaway image.

I nod curtly. Trust is a luxury I can’t afford—not after everything.

“Want to make some money?” she asks casually, as though proposing a simple game.

I almost roll my eyes at the simplicity of her question.

She smirks, briefly flashing dimples. “I could use a girl like you,” she continues. “What do you say?”

“I don’t even know what you’re offering me,” I blurt out, my defenses prickling.

Her laughter rolls over me, warm yet somehow chilling. “I’m offering you a job. Pays well, and it includes room and board. What do you say?”

This has to be a scam.

“Come on,” she presses, sensing my hesitation. “What do you have to lose? Nothing.”

I really don’t know what I have to lose if I’m being honest with myself.

“Come on,” she repeats, seeing the flicker of interest—or perhaps desperation—in my eyes. “Where are you even planning on going?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, the uncertainty heavy in my voice.

“Exactly.” She nods as if everything has fallen into place. “Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Sedona,” she answers. “You hungry?”

My stomach betrays me with a loud grumble.

Laughing, she grabs my hand. “Of course you’re hungry.” She tugs me around the building, her grip firm yet not unkind.

My eyes stay on her, curious and unsettled. Every instinct screams that this is a turning point, for better or worse.

---