Home, Himself

He isn't being reserved on purpose. Questions just aren't something he trusts. Maybe she's not a cop trying to lock up another homeless kid or a suspicious clerk at a roadside gas station wondering why he's paying for Slim Jims in grubby singles, but she's still an adult, and he's still a transient and a teenager. Sixteen is the age where everyone suspects you of something. Though for him, big, brown, and ungroomed, it started much earlier.

When she turns back to him, her eyes are tired. She can't be more than thirty-five, but her lips, her hands-they've seen more than what three decades should hold. "What you're running from isn't gonna stop. Someday you'll tire out, and Bryce, whatever's chasing you... won't."

Bryce can't think of anything to say to that.