Chapter 5 Shadow Of The Past

The motel ceiling was water-stained and cracked, but I found myself tracing the jagged lines like constellations I could name. It was early. The kind of early that felt like the world hadn't quite woken up yet, and maybe, just maybe, I could pretend I didn't exist for a few more minutes.

But sleep had abandoned me the way I had abandoned everything else, my sister, my name, my past. Guilt pressed into my chest as heavily as the motel's scratchy blanket. Rosa. I had left her. My baby sister, who had looked at me with too much trust in her big, glassy eyes.

Had she cried when she realized I was gone?

I closed my eyes against the sting building behind them. I couldn't afford to cry. Not now.

The air smelled like old smoke and mildew. I sat up, brushing hair from my face and squinting into the pale light filtering through threadbare curtains. My wedding dress was still crumpled in the corner where I had tossed it the night before. It looked ghostly now, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. Someone foolish enough to believe she could be saved by a fairy tale.

I guess I was.

The jeans were a little loose. The black hoodie swallowed me, but that felt safe somehow. I tied my hair back, slipped on sneakers, and avoided the mirror. I already knew what I'd see.

Outside, Roscoe was quiet. A sleepy town with creaky porches and gas stations that still had analog signs. It was the kind of place people passed through, not stayed in. Which made me stand out more. I shoved my hands into the hoodie pocket and walked toward the diner I'd found the night before.

The bell above the door jingled, the sound sharp in the sleepy silence. Same waitress. Bleach-blonde, gum-chewing, vaguely bored.

"Coffee?" she asked, barely glancing at me.

I nodded, choosing the same booth in the corner. She poured without asking. Black. No sugar. Like she knew that was the kind of morning I was having.

I cradled the mug, trying to warm my fingers, trying to make sense of the world again. A man sat at the counter with a newspaper folded beside him. It took everything in me not to lurch forward and grab it, but I waited. Sipped. Waited longer.

Eventually, he got up, tossed a few bills on the counter, and left the paper behind. I didn't run. I walked, calm as I could, and slid onto the stool.

Page six. There it was.

Runaway Bride Vanishes: Elara West Still Missing.

My picture. My face. Staring back at me with haunted eyes.

They used the worst one. From the engagement party. I looked like a deer caught in headlights. Like I knew, even then, I didn't belong in that life.

I closed the paper, shoved it back onto the counter. The waitress looked at me funny.

"You okay, hon? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Just didn't sleep well," I said quickly, forcing a weak smile.

She didn't press. Just refilled my coffee.

Back at the motel, something was off. I felt it before I even got to my door. The air buzzed differently. A black sedan had driven past the diner earlier, slowly. It looked like the same one now parked across the street from the motel. Tinted windows. The engine still running.

I tried not to look directly at it as I slipped inside. Locked the door. Drew the curtains.

My heart wouldn't settle. I paced, every creak of the floorboards setting my nerves on edge. I needed to talk to Cassian. Tell him I was okay. Ask about Rosa.

The motel phone didn't work. Of course it didn't.

I pulled on the hoodie again and headed down the street until I found the payphone near the gas station. It smelled like cigarettes and rain. I dug into my pocket, fingers closing around a quarter Cassian had left in the duffle. I punched in the number I remembered by heart.

It rang. Once. Twice. Four times.

Voicemail.

"Cassian, it's me. I made it.

I'm in... I think I'm in Roscoe.

Don't come. Just... let me know Rosa's okay.

Please. And... thank you. For everything."

I hung up before I could cry.

The sky had turned the color of rust by the time I walked back. That black car was gone. Or maybe I was imagining it. I couldn't tell anymore. My mind was a blur of too much caffeine, too little sleep, and fear curling like smoke in my stomach.

I peeled off the hoodie, tried to shower, but the water came out lukewarm and smelled faintly of iron. I dressed again. Ate stale chips from the vending machine. The motel TV was fuzzy, static-flecked. I turned it off.

Then I saw it.

An envelope. Pale cream. Slipped beneath the door while I'd been gone.

No name. No return address.

Just one line, written in elegant handwriting:

You should've run farther.

My breath caught. My hand shook.

Someone knew.

Someone was already here.

The walls of the motel seemed to close in. My throat tightened, and the world tilted slightly off center.

I didn't know what terrified me more, the thought of being found, or the thought of who exactly had found me.

Because whoever it was, they weren't in a rush.

They wanted me to know.