Page 2 of Found by the Pack
I stopped talking after a while. Stopped painting. Stopped asking.
I pinch the inside of my thigh. Hard.Focus, Sadie.
The car is silent except for the wheezing heater. My eyes burn, but no tears come. I think I’m too dry inside for tears anymore.
I look at myself in the mirror, and the image that stares back at me catches me off guard. I look like shit. My eyes used to be bright blue. Max used to say they reminded him of a clear sky before a storm.
Now they’re just storm.
“I said I’d try once more,” I say into the dark. I owe it to my late husband to try one last time. One more town. One more job, then I’m done.”
I look at the road ahead. GPS says four hours to Driftwood Cove.
Four hours to maybe starting anew.
Or ending it. Either way, I’m going.
It’s raining when I hit the edge of town. Not the polite, drizzly kind of rain you’d expect from a sleepy coastal postcard. Nah, this is sideways, windshield-smearing, wiper-blurring, cold-as-fuck rain. The kind that makes your bones ache even when the heater’s blasting and your hoodie’s pulled up over your ears.
I clutch the steering wheel, squinting through the blur as I creep past what must be the town square. The buildings look... quiet. Closed. Like I’m the only idiot alive driving around at 7 a.m. in a place that looks like it forgot people existed.
“Where the hell is City Hall?” I mutter, leaning closer to the glass. The GPS keeps rerouting me like it’s also unsure what the fuck Driftwood Cove is doing. “Left on Main, then left on... Main again? Seriously?”
There’s a small brick building up ahead with a flagpole out front. Red brick. Big windows. A faded sign that says “City Hall” in gold paint that’s peeling around the edges.
I pull into the tiny lot and park, blinking at the building.
It’s closed.
Of course it is.
The windows are dark. No lights on. No cars. No movement. Just a soggy bench and a paper flyer slapped against the door, soaked straight through.
I exhale, nose scrunching.
I’m supposed to meet Mayor Jake Marshall here. That was the plan. That’s what his email said. I even double-checked last night, between crying over Max’s picture and debating whether I should just ghost the whole damn thing and turn around.
I tap my phone: 7% battery. Figures. Charger’s tangled in the back seat with my duffel bag and my backup sketch pads.
“Cool. Love this journey for me.”
I glance around, hoping maybe a diner or gas station’s nearby. Nothing. Just sleepy streets, shuttered shops, fog sneaking down from the hills like it’s got nowhere better to be.
Hunger punches me in the gut. I haven’t eaten since a protein bar yesterday. And even that tasted like cardboard. My stomach growls like it’s pissed.
“Okay.” I sigh. “Drive ‘til I find somewhere open. Then I’ll figure out the rest.”
I crawl my truck through town, wipers slapping against the glass. Everything looks… sealed up. Like the town collectively decided it didn’t feel like existing today. I pass a coffee shop—dark. A flower shop—lights off. Even the gas station is chained shut.
I’m one more closed sign away from crying when I spot it. A squat, wide old building tucked between two brick storefronts, set back a bit from the street. There’s a sign: DRIFTWOOD COVE LIBRARY.
And the porch light’s on.
“I’ll take it,” I mumble, throwing the truck in park.
I grab my sketchbook and my hoodie, not bothering with my bag. I’m soaked in seconds just from the dash to the door, my boots squelching on the steps. I grab the handle.
It opens.
