Toby stepped out of the gas station like he owned the place. Shoulders loose. Expression blank. The weight of the energy drink under his coat felt heavier than it should’ve, still cool against his ribs. He didn’t run—never did. That was the trick. You walk like you paid. Like you're just another guy trying to get through the day.
The lot was quiet, the afternoon sun pressing hard against the crumbling asphalt. A car passed lazily on the road, the engine coughing as it went. He slid his hands into his jacket pockets, head down just enough to avoid drawing attention, but eyes always moving. Always scanning.
Across the road, past the faded 'Car Parts & Repairs' sign that hadn’t lit up in years, someone was sitting against the broken remains of a brick wall. Old place—probably used to be a garage, now just another forgotten corner where people passed time and no one asked questions.
The person sitting there didn’t look like they had anywhere else to be. Legs stretched out in front of them, arms resting on their knees, head tipped slightly back like they were enjoying the sun that wasn't to be seen. Their posture too relaxed, like they’d wandered off the wrong page of a book and hadn’t noticed yet. Toby might’ve kept walking if the glance they gave him hadn’t lingered. Just long enough to make it clear it wasn’t random.
The person blinked slowly, like they were still working through the math. Toby stepped off the curb, crossing toward the wall instead of walking away. He didn’t know why. Maybe curiosity. Maybe instinct. Maybe the way the stranger’s clothes didn’t match the peeling paint and sunburnt brick.
As he got closer, he could see the faint frown tugging at their mouth. Not suspicion—confusion. Like they were the one caught off guard.
Their brow furrowed. “Have we...met before?”
Toby slowed instinctively, the question brushing up against something in the back of his mind. A voice, maybe a face. He didn’t place it immediately, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t familiar. The voice didn't match the face—not at all, as if the spoken jumble of words were automated as they didn't quite meet the eye.
He cleared his throat, forcing his tone casual. “Possibly in Colorado,” He said, the lie smooth from use.
Colorado had become his go-to answer. Vague enough to be believable, far enough that most people didn’t ask for details. He’d passed through there a few years back—stayed in an abandoned shelter for a few nights, worked at a junkyard under a fake name, disappeared again before anyone got too curious.
The person tilted their head, squinting at him like they were trying to drag something into focus. Toby didn’t give them the chance. He hated moments like that—brushes with the past. You never knew which memory might catch up to you. And for someone like him, even the small ones had teeth.
As he walked, he reached inside his coat and pulled out the drink, cracking the tab with a quiet hiss. The bitter scent of synthetic fruit hit his nose. He took a sip, not because he liked it, but because he needed the distraction. Something normal. Something now.