The car rolled into town just as the morning rush began. Melted snow streaked the pavement, cars crawled along slick roads, and shopkeepers in heavy coats brushed frost from their windows. The driver let us out in front of the café on the corner — a brick building with steamed-up glass and the scent of fresh bread spilling into the cold air.
"Thanks for the lift," I said, slipping him a few bills.
Inside, the café was warm and crowded, the murmur of conversation blending with the hiss of the espresso machine. We found a booth tucked against the wall, where I could watch both the door and the street. Amelia slid into the seat opposite me, wrapping her hands around a mug of tea like she was trying to draw all the heat into her bones.
For the next hour, we stayed there — ordering more drinks than we could finish, pretending to read the local paper, keeping our voices low. Every time the door opened, she stiffened. I caught myself doing the same.
It wasn't sustainable. We both knew it.
"We can't just sit here all day," I said finally, my voice quiet enough for only her to hear. "If we go to the police, at least they'll know what's happening. You'll have a record on file."
Her eyes flicked toward the window, scanning the street like she expected him to be there. Then she nodded, slowly.
"Okay," she whispered. "Let's do it."
The police station was a low, square building tucked between the post office and a hardware store, its flag still stiff with frost. Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and wet wool, the hum of a space heater filling the otherwise quiet room. A single officer sat at the front desk, flipping through paperwork with a pencil tucked behind his ear.
He looked up when we approached, offering a polite but tired smile. "Morning. What can I do for you?"
I glanced at Amelia, but she stayed silent, her fingers knotting together in her lap. So I explained — my car stranded on the mountain, the slashed tires, the man she knew who had been following her. I kept my voice steady, but the weight of it all hung between us.
The officer listened without interrupting, his brow furrowing only slightly. When I finished, he nodded. "All right. We'll file a report. Do you have a photo of this man?"
Amelia reached into her coat and slid her phone across the counter. The officer studied the picture for a moment before jotting something down.
"I'll be honest with you," he said, "we're running short on manpower right now. Roads are still blocked in places, and we've had a string of accidents to deal with. But we'll put his description out to patrols and keep an eye out. If he's in town, someone will spot him."
It wasn't the swift, decisive action I'd hoped for, but it was something.
As we stepped back out into the cold, Amelia's shoulders slumped — not in defeat, but in a tired kind of acceptance.
"What now?" she asked.
I didn't have a perfect answer. "We keep moving," I said. "Stay somewhere safe. Somewhere public."
We called Kelly and left her a message, asking her to call us back.
We spent the rest of the day drifting from one safe, crowded place to another.
First, the cafe on the high street — two long hours of coffee refills and half-eaten sandwiches. Then the library, where we sat in the warmth of the reading room, Amelia thumbing through a book she didn't seem to be reading while I pretended to browse the local history section.
Every time we moved, it was deliberate. Never staying too long in one spot, never walking down an empty street if we could help it. Amelia kept her hood up, her face partly turned away from the road, and I caught myself mirroring her without thinking.
As afternoon light thinned into the pale blue of early evening, we found ourselves in the town's small shopping mall. It wasn't much — just a handful of shops wrapped around a food court — but the noise and movement were a comfort. Here, we were two more strangers in the crowd.
We bought some food and sat near the far wall, where we could watch the doors. The grease from the food soaked into the cardboard boxes, but neither of us cared. We were buying time, nothing more.
At one point, Amelia leaned in, her voice barely audible over the hum of voices. "I hate feeling like this — like he could be anywhere."
I didn't have anything wise to offer, so I just nodded. "We'll figure it out. Tonight, tomorrow… we will."
Then, while I was halfway through my fried chicken, a flicker of movement at the far end of the food court caught my eye — a tall man stepping through the entrance, head turning as if scanning the crowd.
I froze.
Even at this distance, there was something about the set of his shoulders, the way he moved, that made my stomach knot.
Amelia noticed my stillness and followed my gaze. Her hand tightened on her cup until the plastic creaked.
"It's him," she whispered, voice brittle.
I looked again, trying to be sure — but in the space of a heartbeat, the man was gone, swallowed by the flow of people between the shops.
"We should go," I said, my voice low but firm.
We dumped the food into the nearest rubbish bin and made for the opposite exit, keeping our pace brisk but not panicked.
Outside, the air was sharp with cold, our breaths curling into the darkening sky. I scanned the street behind us, but there was nothing — no sign of him, no proof he'd even been there.
Still, the feeling clung to me like frost.
We were halfway down the block, debating whether to head for the busier part of town, when Amelia's phone buzzed in her pocket. She fumbled it out with cold fingers, glanced at the screen, and answered.
"Kelly?" Her voice softened, relief slipping through the tension.
I caught only fragments —words like urgent, come now. Amelia's expression shifted from relief to worry in the span of a few breaths.
"What happened?" I asked as soon as she hung up.
"She wouldn't say over the phone," Amelia said, already moving toward the curb. "Just… something's wrong. She needs us to come."
We flagged down the first cab we saw, sliding into the back seat and giving the driver the name of the hospital. My knee bounced restlessly against the seat as the city lights smeared past the window.
The hospital loomed ahead, its fluorescent glow cutting through the dusk like a beacon. Whatever was waiting inside, I knew one thing—we wouldn't be leaving without answers.