She was finally leaving.

Not just the city. Everything that ever held her back.

Her past. Her guilt. You.

The bus station was empty except for a cracked vending machine and a man snoring on a bench. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and stale popcorn, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a nest of angry bees.

The last outbound to Corley Bay would still be awhile.

She clutched the envelope in her coat. One hundred crisp bills. All her father could spare. "Don't think twice," he'd told her, eyes tired but clear. "Just get out. Start a new life."

Then she saw it tucked against the wall by the bathrooms like it had been waiting for her.

A payphone.

She walked to it like she was sleepwalking. Opened the glass door. Picked up the receiver. It was still warm. Someone else had hesitated here. She wondered if they made it onto their bus.

One last chance to say goodbye. Or maybe not.

Her fingers dialed your number from memory.

The line clicked, then rang. Once. Twice...