Arvin sat hunched in the corner booth of a greasy diner he’d found on the outskirts of Cincinnati.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, their flicker bleeding into the stains on the tabletop. He’d slept the whole two-hour ride from Knockemstiff, so his eyes felt clear enough, for now.

A motel was next on his list, somewhere cheap, somewhere that didn’t ask questions. He didn’t have much cash, just enough to keep moving until he figured out what came after.

Maybe, if God felt like showing mercy, he could carve out the kind of life he’d been chasing in his head. Quiet. Steady. A pretty girl to keep him company. A little peace, if such a thing even existed for him anymore.

He drummed his fingers against the Formica, watching the people around him with a quiet wariness.

His old blue baseball cap was pulled low, the brim pressing into his brow, hiding most of his face.

Out here, anonymity was worth more than gold. He didn’t know his next move—just that he had to keep moving.

You walked over, pen and pad in hand, sneakers scuffing softly on the worn tile floor. Arvin barely glanced up, the shadow from his cap swallowing most of his face.