Year 18

-Chapter 25-

"She went that way!"

I hold still, anxiety ripping at my stomach. They know. They must. They've been surveying the trees, the branches. Surely someone's seen me.

"Spread out, she headed that way," an Agent shouts.

I don't believe my ears, so I stay put. I let the minutes slip by, listening as the silence grows thick once more. Waiting is agony. It feels as though I should run, but where would I run to? Kane was right in his thinking; they have been making their way out from the city. Thankfully, that was the way I had run, but now there will be more ground to cover.

But what if they come back? What if more come from the city? The closer I get, the more likely I am to run into more of them. This had been close. They'd seen me, or at least it sounded that way.

I press a kiss to the top of Amelia's head, cautiously lowering us to the ground.

"It's now or never," I whisper into the stillness, bracing myself as I take off running.

When I finally arrive at the safe house, they've already gotten to work on altering Kane's appearance. His signature mop of dark hair has been buzzed down, dyed to a blonde even lighter than my own. His eyebrows have been made to match, faux scars crossing through the hairs of his right brow. I watch as the man of the house presses contacts into Kane's eyes, turning them a convincing royal blue, while his wife—I presume—brushes on fake scars, moles, freckles to further sell the alterations.

When Kane notices me, there's a shift in his eyes, a mixture of concern, fear, and relief. I pass Amelia to my other arm as the woman comes toward me, her hand lightly touching my arm. "We need to get started on you," she says, pulling me toward another room.

Despite knowing I can trust her, being separated from Kane at every turn feels like the beginnings of betrayal. The woman speaks in hushed tones, her voice steady, authoritative, but not unkind.

"We'll start with your hair," she informs, showing me to a seat. By the looks of it, she's brought me into her bedroom. Pictures of her and the man from beforehand on the walls, smiling down on us. Her serious features have aged her from the images above. "I'll put the dye in, and then cut it. The shorter the better."

She grabs for a hairbrush, raking it through the tangles that have formed along the roots, the ends. She isn't gentle, my scalp stinging with each tug. We don't have time for such niceties, so I press my tongue to the back of my teeth, keeping silent.

"My husband has provided Kane with the next coordinates," she says, passing the brush to her other hand.

She goes on to explain that he will have to tell me; that the coordinates have been destroyed. I hadn't given much thought to the fire bustling in their fireplace until now. No doubt it's where the paper trail ended.

"Tilt your head," she says as she begins to brush dye into the roots first, then works her hands along to the ends. Black stains her fingertips and her palms as she continues to apply the dye.

I try to relax knowing that this is a place that should be safe, but inside I know such a place doesn't exist. This is only safer in appearance. If Agents were to show up at the front door, we wouldn't be safer than anywhere else.

I shift Amelia on my lap as she tries to reach for things the woman has set on the dresser. This earns a smile from the woman, and she stops for a fraction of a second, her hand resting against her stomach.