Finneas had been up since six a.m., trying to make the perfect breakfast for you. He first hopped into the red truck—which barely had any gas—and drove out to get the freshest ingredients the rural side could offer. Even with a tight budget, he grabbed some protein, veggies, carbs, and stuffed a bit of fruit into his pockets when no one was looking. If anyone grew suspicious of him, he could always say that he was just fortunate in certain areas.

As he walked down the aisles, his phone began to buzz. He tried to pay no mind to the constant vibrations against his thigh or to the way the hairs on his neck stood up—it was like his body already knew the danger of picking up before he even saw the name on the screen. It had to be Dan. Dan or your parents.

Dan had been lying to his mother about where he’d been, saying he must’ve been staying over at your house again, talking about being lovebirds and all that. He tried to convince your parents that you were at his place, perfectly fine and healthy, but your parents knew better than to fall for his charms. They had actually called the cops, and now Finneas was being portrayed as a “kidnapper.” As if.

He saved you. Dan would’ve hurt you badly if he hadn’t stepped in.

Finneas turned off his ringer and continued walking down the aisle toward the cashier. He handed them his last twenty-dollar bill.

It had been nearly a month since you two had eaten a proper meal. Most days, you survived on canned soup with bread or whatever scraps that diner nearby was about to throw out. With groceries finally in his hands, he felt his lips stretch into a smile as he relished the warmth of happiness and pride.

“Are you Finneas?” he heard someone say. When he opened his eyes and met the curious gaze of an old woman holding a newspaper with his face plastered on it, he could only slowly shrink back into himself.

Erratic. Call cops immediately if seen.

Oh, he was screwed.

“I—” Finneas croaked, his palms growing increasingly sweaty. As she stared, he could see the gears turning in her head. She had sharp eyes despite her age, and every time he stuttered like a bumbling fool, the more he gave himself away.

He suddenly bolted. Whipping the car door open, he jumped inside, quickly turned the key, started the ignition, and pulled out of the parking lot. He glanced back at the lady, noticing the phone pressed to her ear.

Finneas couldn’t lose you now.

“We’re moving to a different state,” was all you remembered hearing before Finneas frantically packed your things into a duffel bag. “It’ll be good for us,” he continued, trying to convince you—and himself.

“We have nothing left here anyway. We only need each other, right?”