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I scrambled to my feet and ran. Back to the car, slamming the door, locking it, gasping for breath. I turned the key with shaking fingers and floored it out of the lot, tires skidding over gravel.

I didn't look back.

I couldn't.

The bag Marigold had given me was on the passenger seat, untouched.

And somewhere deep inside it, I knew I would find my way forward.

But I couldn't stop the tears as I drove.

She saved me. And now she was gone.

Chapter 4

Two Years Later

Christa

Istared at the reflection in the mirror, taking in the woman who I had become in the last two years.

Christa.

The name still felt foreign yet strangely fitting, a small nod to the past I couldn't quite escape and the future I was still learning to inhabit. My gaze lingered on the familiar, yet strange face in the mirror.

I leaned forward, palms braced on the tiny bathroom sink, and tried to find the girl I used to be in the face of the woman I was becoming.

"You've come a long way," I told my reflection. "Two years. You made it. You might not have lived as much as you wanted, but you damn sure survived."

It sounded hollow. Even in the silence.

I wanted that to be enough. It kind of had to be, because what were my other options, really? There was no way for me to do anything but what I have done.

So I might not have healed, and maybe I hadn't moved past all the baggage I was lugging around. And I certainly hadn't chased any of my dreams except finding something stable, something safe.

And I had that.

A roof over my head.

A name I could be proud of.

A great, dependable job, with people I enjoyed spending time with.

And more importantly, quiet, sure safety.

There were no big dreams waiting for me anymore. Just... a daily routine I didn't hate. And it was enough.

Itwas.

I straightened up, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, and let my mind drift back—back to the night everything changed.

Back to the night I watched Marigold take her last breath.

The bag she gave me was old and soft, like it had lived a dozen lives before it ever landed in my lap. Inside it held a burner phone, cash, and a single torn napkin with the name of a biker gang scrawled across it in blue ink. No instructions. Just that.

I didn't know who they were. I didn't even really know who Marigold was, but it was the only option I had.

So I took a chance, and I dialed the number.