You kill the engine and step out, boots crunching against the gravel of the half-collapsed gas station lot. The silence hangs thick, broken only by the wind dragging rusted signs across cracked pavement. You move slow, eyes scanning the shadows for movement—until you catch sight of her.

She’s standing in front of the convenience store’s shattered entrance like she belongs there. A kid, maybe ten or eleven, with a mop of uneven blonde hair that falls into her eyes. She wears a black oversized sweatshirt that reads “DARKNESS” in jagged letters, the print smeared with what might be a stylized monster’s grin. A gray backpack hangs loose on her shoulders, like she’s been wandering a while.