Chapter 1

The Greyhound bus idled, its engine a low rumble in the humid morning air.

This was it.

The express to the Boeing apprenticeship program in Washington State.

A one-way ticket out of this town.

My fiancé, Jake Miller, stood blocking the narrow doorway of the bus depot.

He scanned the street, a frown on his face.

He was waiting for Brittany Smith.

She was probably still at the convenience store, agonizing over which shade of lipstick to buy.

If we missed this bus, our chance was gone.

Last time, I'd dragged him onto the bus.

I'd argued, pleaded, finally wrestled him aboard just as the doors hissed shut.

We'd made it. We became apprentices, got good jobs.

Brittany, left behind, had spiraled.

She'd latched onto a string of bad men, ended up pregnant and alone, died from complications during a desperate, late-term abortion.

Jake never forgave me.

On our wedding night, his hands, the same hands that had held mine, tightened around my throat.

His eyes were red, full of a chilling hatred.

"You did this, Emily," he'd choked out. "You killed her. She deserved that chance, not you. Why should you be happy?"

Then darkness.

Now, I was back.

The same bus stop, the same impatient sigh from the driver.

Jake's back was to me, still looking for Brittany.

I let my hand, which had been about to grab his arm, fall to my side.

This time, he could wait.

Let him reap what he sowed.

"What's the hold-up, Jake?" Mike Johnson asked, his voice tight. "Bus is gonna leave."

Mike's dad was a firefighter, died in the line of duty. This apprenticeship was everything to him.

Jake didn't even turn around.

"Relax, Mike. Brittany's almost here."

"Relax? We're gonna miss our shot!" another guy, Tom, chimed in.

The small group of us, all clutching our acceptance letters, shifted nervously.

Jake finally faced us.

He held up a thick manila envelope. "I've got all the letters right here. And the bus tickets Mr. Henderson gave me to pass out. Nobody gets on without me."

A cold dread washed over me. My father, Army Sergeant Hayes, Medal of Honor recipient, posthumously. His legacy was supposed to protect me, open doors. Instead, after his death, I'd been taken in by Jake's father, County Commissioner Miller.

A kindness, everyone said.

I knew better, especially after dying once. They wanted Dad's survivor benefits, his reputation. My apprenticeship slot was likely due to my father's name, a fact Commissioner Miller probably leveraged.

Jake smirked, enjoying the power. "Anyone tries to rush me, well, accidents happen." He patted the envelope.

"You wouldn't," Mike breathed, his face pale.

Jake's eyes, the same eyes that had stared down at me as I died, glinted. He pulled a Zippo from his pocket, flicked it open.

The flame danced.

"Try me."

Everyone froze.

This apprenticeship, working for a major defense contractor, was a dream. A way out of dead-end jobs and small-town limitations.

"Jake, man, what the hell?" Tom pleaded. "You want to wait for Brittany, fine. But give us our stuff."

"We're all from the same town, practically family," Jake said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "We don't leave people behind. Brittany's letter is in here too. If we go, she gets left out. Is that what you want?"

He knew. He had to know. This calm, this calculated cruelty.

He was reborn too.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

"Emily, talk to him," Sarah, another girl, whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "He's your fiancé."

I looked at Jake. He met my gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Contempt? Triumph?

"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "He's right. We shouldn't leave anyone behind."

The others stared at me, aghast.

"Emily, are you crazy?" Mike exploded. "He's bluffing!"

"If we miss this because of them, I swear..." Tom trailed off, clenching his fists.

Jake's smile widened. "See? Emily gets it. She's not selfish like the rest of you."

He actually believed it. Or wanted to.

The bus driver leaned out. "Folks, I'm on a schedule. Last call!"

Just then, a cheery voice called out, "Sorry I'm late, guys!"

Brittany Smith sauntered up, a large soda in one hand, reapplying lip gloss with the other. She was wearing a new, too-bright pink top.

"What's everyone looking so glum about?" she asked, oblivious. "The bus isn't going to leave without us, silly."

Jake snapped his Zippo shut, his smile genuine now as he looked at her. "Told you they'd wait."

He handed the manila envelope to Brittany with a flourish. "Here you go. All our tickets to a new life."

Brittany giggled, her fingers brushing his as she took it.

The bus door hissed, starting to close.

"No!" Mike yelled, lunging for the envelope.

Brittany shrieked and stumbled back, right into Jake.

The envelope flew from her grasp, papers scattering across the dusty ground.

The bus gave a final pneumatic sigh, its doors sealing shut.

It pulled away from the curb, a cloud of diesel smoke in its wake.

Gone.

Silence descended, thick and heavy.

My voice cut through it, calm, almost detached.

"Well, that's that. I guess we're not going today."

I turned to Jake. "Don't worry, Jake. I heard there's a National Guard convoy heading up to Fort Lewis in a few days. Your father, the County Commissioner, he must know the commander, right? I'm sure he can pull some strings for his son. And for Brittany, of course. She's practically your father's goddaughter, isn't she?"

Jake stared at me, his jaw tight. The confidence in his eyes wavered, replaced by a dawning suspicion.

He knew I knew.