20. Goodbyes

Nun waited up for Freen, every light in the house glowing. Freen's mind spun, desperately searching for a convincing reason to leave.

Becky parked her Jeep a safe distance away from Freen's truck. Inside the vehicle, tension crackled like static. Irin and Billy sat rigid, their gazes trained on the woods, listening for any trace of danger. When the engine shut off, Freen hesitated, frozen in place.

"He's not here," Irin murmured.

"Let's move," Becky said as she stepped out, her voice low but commanding.

"Don't worry, Freen," Billy said, offering a small smile. "We've got this."

Irin and Billy slipped into the shadows, their movements eerily silent. Becky opened Freen's door, her eyes softening as she reached for her hand.

"When this is over, we're going to talk about your anger issues," Freen quipped, trying to inject some levity into the suffocating moment. Becky's lips twitched, her fingers brushing away a stray tear on Freen's cheek.

"I'm sorry," Becky murmured. "I haven't felt this kind of worry or fear in... centuries. It's unnatural for me."

"You'd better get used to it," Freen said lightly. "I've got a lot of human friends and family."

Becky ducked her head, a faint smile gracing her lips. "Fifteen minutes," she urged, her tone turning serious.

"I can do this," Freen whispered. She paused on the porch, cupping Becky's face in her hands and meeting her intense, golden gaze. "I will always love you, no matter what happens."

"Nothing will happen to you, Freen," Becky replied fiercely, her grip tightening slightly.

"Stick to the plan," Freen continued. "Keep my mum safe. She'll worry herself sick over me. I need a chance to apologize."

"She'll forgive you. Now, go. We're running out of time." Becky's voice turned urgent.

"One last thing," Freen whispered, her lips quirking into a bittersweet smile. "Don't listen to another word I say tonight." She kissed Becky hard, catching her off guard, then turned and shoved the door open. "Go away, Becky!" Freen shouted, slamming the door behind her.

"Freen?" Nun's voice floated down the hall, thick with concern. She was already standing, her expression alarmed. "Are you okay?"

"Leave me alone!" Freen barked, bolting up the stairs as tears blurred her vision. She yanked her duffel bag from under the bed, grabbing the envelope of emergency cash from her dresser. Nun's pounding on the door grew more insistent.

"Freen, what's going on?"

"I'm leaving," Freen shouted back, choking on her words. She stuffed clothes into the bag haphazardly. Becky appeared silently beside her, pulling out more clothes from the drawers with practiced efficiency.

Nun's voice rose, frantic. "Did she hurt you?"

"No!" Freen yelled, her breathing ragged.

"Did she break up with you?"

"No!" Freen's voice cracked. She zipped the bag violently, her shaking hands fumbling with the strap. Becky gently nudged her aside, securing the bag over Freen's shoulder.

"I'll be in the truck. Go," Becky whispered.

Freen nodded, wiping her face before flinging the door open and pushing past her mother. "What happened?" Nun demanded, following her down the stairs.

"I broke up with her!" Freen snapped, the words tasting bitter. She rushed into the kitchen to grab her keys.

"I thought you liked her," Nun said, bewildered.

"I can't stand it here anymore," Freen replied, her voice hollow.

"Freen, wait," Nun said, catching her by the elbow. "How are you even going to get to California?"

"I have enough for a plane ticket. I'll figure out the rest," Freen said, avoiding her mother's eyes.

"What about school?"

"I'll email my teachers," Freen muttered, sidestepping her mother.

"Then I'm coming with you." Nun's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Freen's head snapped up. "What?"

"I can't let you travel the country alone. What kind of parent would I be?"

Freen's panic surged. "I need to do this alone," she pleaded.

"Freen, this isn't like you. Sit down. Tell me what's going on. We can leave tonight if you need to, but I have to understand."

Freen's mask crumbled as she turned to face Nun, tears spilling freely. "I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling her mother into a fierce hug. "I can't explain everything right now, but I promise we'll both be safe."

Nun clung to her tightly, her voice trembling. "You're too much like your father," she murmured.

Freen pulled back, her hands still on Nun's shoulders. "I'll call you as soon as I can. I love you, Mum. Goodbye."

Freen darted out to the truck, her heart pounding. Becky was already in the passenger seat, waiting.

"Pull over," Becky said as the house disappeared in the rearview mirror.

"I can drive," Freen insisted through her tears. Becky gently pried Freen's foot from the gas pedal, switching places with her in a blur of motion.

"The tracker?" Freen asked, her voice shaky.

"He's following us," Becky confirmed grimly. "But your mum is safe. The others are keeping watch."

Freen exhaled shakily, leaning back against the seat. Becky's hand found hers, squeezing gently.

"It'll be okay," Becky promised, though her eyes were clouded with worry.

"Will it?" Freen whispered, her voice small.

Becky's grip tightened. "Yes. I won't let anything happen to you."

Freen stared out the window, her heart aching. The image of her mother's tear-streaked face lingered in her mind, a painful reminder of what she was leaving behind.

"I'll make this right," Freen murmured, more to herself than to Becky.

Becky's jaw clenched as she glanced at Freen. "We'll make it right," she said firmly.

The truck sped into the night, the road stretching endlessly ahead of them.

******

"What's the plan?" Freen asked as soon as they stepped into the Armstrong mansion. Her voice was steady, but her heart raced.

"We'll lead him away," Robert answered. "Richie and Irin will take you south."

"And then?"

Becky's voice was cold, deadly. "As soon as you're clear, we hunt him."

Robert nodded grimly. "It seems there's no other choice." His expression bore the weight of resolved regret.

Becky turned to Song, her face briefly pleading before it settled into a mask of indifference. "Go upstairs and trade clothes."

Song's face shifted, disbelief giving way to resignation. She nodded solemnly and headed for the stairs.

Becky then turned to Freen, her tone calm but her eyes betraying urgency. "Freen?"

Freen squeezed Becky's hand, offering a silent promise, and followed Song upstairs.

"What are we doing?" Freen asked breathlessly as they stepped into a dimly lit room off the second-story hall.

"Trying to confuse the scent," Song replied briskly. "It won't work for long, but it might give us enough time to get you out."

Freen began to strip, her movements hurried and clumsy. Something soft was pressed into her hands—a shirt, she assumed. She slipped it on without hesitation.

Song was already dressed in Freen's clothes, the switch done in an instant.

"Let's go," Song said, picking up a leather bag and heading for the stairs.

Freen, Song, and Irin regrouped at the landing. Downstairs, everything seemed settled. Becky and Billy stood ready to leave, Billy hoisting a heavy backpack over one shoulder. Robert handed Rawe something small and silver—a cell phone—before passing an identical one to Song.

"Rawe and Song will take your truck, Freen," Robert explained, his voice calm but firm. Freen nodded mutely.

"Irin, Richie—you'll take the Mercedes. The dark tint will help further south," Robert added.

The two nodded in unison.

"We'll take the Jeep," Robert finished.

Freen's stomach tightened with worry as she realized Robert intended to go with Becky. The thought of them forming a hunting party made her chest ache.

Robert turned to Irin. "Will they take the bait?"

The room seemed to hold its breath as Irin closed her eyes, becoming unnaturally still. When her eyes reopened, her expression was resolute.

"Mile will track you. The woman will follow the truck. We should be able to leave after that," she said with certainty.

"Let's move." Robert began walking toward the kitchen.

Becky was at Freen's side in an instant, her grip firm and desperate as she pulled Freen into a crushing embrace. It felt as though Becky didn't care—or perhaps wasn't even aware—that her family was watching. Her hands cradled Freen's face, tilting it up as she pressed her icy lips to Freen's in a hard, lingering kiss.

When she pulled back, Becky's honey-gold eyes locked onto Freen's deep brown ones for a moment that felt like forever. Then, like a switch flipping, her eyes faded to green, empty and unreadable. Without another word, she turned and walked away.

And then they were gone.

*****

The remaining Armstrongs stood quietly, avoiding Freen's tear-streaked face. The silence was thick, suffocating.

Finally, Rawe's phone buzzed. She lifted it to her ear, her expression sharpening. "Now," she announced.

Song stalked toward the front door, her posture stiff with barely concealed anger. As she passed Freen, Rawe paused to touch her cheek gently. "Be safe," she whispered before following Song out. Moments later, the rumble of Freen's truck filled the air before fading into the distance.

Richie and Irin lingered. Irin's phone buzzed next. She glanced at the screen. "Becky says the woman is following the truck. I'll get the car." She disappeared into the shadows, as silent as a ghost.

Richie stayed back, his gaze cautious but kind as it rested on Freen.

"You're wrong, you know," he said quietly.

"What?" Freen's voice was brittle, barely holding together.

"I can feel what you're feeling now—and you are worth it."

"I'm not," Freen mumbled, her shoulders sagging under the weight of guilt. "If anything happens to them, it'll all be for nothing."

"You're wrong," Richie repeated, his smile gentle.

The low purr of the Mercedes pulled up to the house. Richie gestured toward the door. "Are you ready?"

Freen nodded, her steps heavy as she trailed behind him, leaving the warmth and safety of the mansion's bright lights behind.

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