The bus to Portland was already boarding. The doors were open, passengers dragging their tired bodies up the steps, handing their tickets to the driver.
Amelia stood frozen in front of the ticket machine, her fingers clenched around the crumpled bills in her pocket.
This was it.
One ticket, one bus ride, and she was gone.
No more Derek breathing down her neck. No more shrinks with their patient voices and clipboards full of labels. No more feeling like a walking disaster, like a problem nobody knew how to solve.
So why the hell couldn't she move?
Her ribs ached, a dull throb from her fall the night before, and the cold air stung against the bruises on her skin. She clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the way her hands were shaking.
Just buy the ticket.
Just go.
A few feet away, a guy around her age was slumped against the wall, hood up, cigarette dangling from his lips. He caught her staring and smirked. "You running from something?"
Her breath hitched.
She wanted to say no, to roll her eyes, to make some smartass comment about how he should mind his own business.
But she couldn't.
Because, for once, she didn't have a lie ready.
She was running.
From everything.
From the way Derek had looked at her in Dr. Meyers' office—like he was still trying, but he was running out of reasons to.
From the way that damn diagnosis had settled into her chest, sinking deep, sinking permanent.
From herself.
The guy chuckled, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Yeah. Me too."
Amelia's fingers tightened around the money.
The bus driver called out for final boarding.
This is your last chance.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
But her feet wouldn't move.
Because as much as she wanted to disappear, as much as she wanted to leave all the wreckage behind—
She knew she wouldn't.
Because Derek would come looking.
Because he always did.
Because no matter how much she convinced herself that he was done with her, that he had finally given up—
He hadn't.
Not yet.
Not really.
And maybe, just maybe—that was enough to make her stay.
The bus doors hissed shut.
The engine rumbled to life.
And Amelia Shepherd stood there, watching it pull away—still a mess, still lost, but still here.