Runaway - Chapter 3

Mary barely noticed when Anthony came back inside. The door hissed shut behind him, sealing out the rain and the cold, and a faint rush of warmer air followed him in. He crossed the lobby with the same unhurried steps as before and held out the cup of hot chocolate. Steam curled from the plastic lid.

“Here.” he said.

She took it with both hands. The warmth seeped into her fingers immediately, sharp and almost painful, and she sucked in a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Thanks,” she said, softer than she meant to.

He nodded, already turning away, like the exchange was finished. Like he hadn’t just done something kind enough to matter. He headed toward the far corner of the station, where the light didn’t quite reach and the benches sat empty. Something twisted in her chest.

“Wait,” she said. The word slipped out before she could stop it.

Anthony stopped and turned back, eyebrows lifting slightly, patient. He didn’t move closer. He just waited, hands loose at his sides.

She hesitated, eyes dropping to the cup in her hands. “Where are you going?”

He glanced toward the back of the station. “Over there,” he said.

“That’s not what I mean,” she said quickly, then sighed and forced herself to look at him. “I mean… where are you going? On the bus. Like—where in the country.”

He studied her for a moment, then walked back and sat down on the bench across from her. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, and gave her a half-smile, eyebrows lifting as if sharing a private joke.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said. “But I get the impression you don’t really want to talk about it.”

Mary’s shoulders stiffened.

“I saw your poster,” he added quietly.

The words landed like a shove.

She turned away from him, staring at the scuffed tile floor, her reflection warped and broken beneath the harsh lights. Her grip tightened on the cup until the heat nearly burned her palms. She swallowed, then looked back at him.

“If you knew,” she asked, voice tight, “why didn’t you say anything?”

Anthony didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands instead, fingers flexing slowly, knuckles still faintly bruised.

“Because I get it,” he said. “Because sometimes being found is worse than being lost.”

The truth of it hit her so hard she felt dizzy.

“I’m running too,” he went on. “From a life I don’t want anymore.”

Mary stared at him. After a moment, she nodded once. “Me too.”

He exhaled, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath either. “I grew up in a rough neighborhood,” he said. “Gangs. Violence. Stuff you don’t really notice at first because it’s just… normal. Then one day you see it clearly. What it costs. What it turns you into.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to be part of it anymore.”

Mary listened, her chest tight. She knew that moment—the one where the world sharpened and you saw the cage for what it was. Where staying in it felt like a slow death. Before she could respond, the doors at the front of the station swung open. Cold air rushed in, sharp and biting, carrying rain and the smell of wet asphalt. Two men stood in the doorway.

They were Hispanic, bodies thick with muscle and layered in tattoos that crawled up their necks and disappeared beneath their jackets. Their eyes swept the room with practiced ease, already knowing what they were looking for.

Mary’s stomach dropped.

Their gazes locked onto Anthony.

He stood immediately.

“Anthony,” one of them called, grinning. “Where you been, man? We’ve been looking for you.”

The other laughed and stepped inside. “You really thought you were gonna take a little trip without saying goodbye?”

Anthony didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides, his whole body going rigid in a way Mary recognized instinctively—like a cornered animal deciding whether to run or fight.

The first man’s eyes slid past him and landed on Mary.

The look made her skin crawl.

“Well, damn,” he said. “Who’s your new girlfriend?”

Anthony moved before she could react.

He shoved the man hard, sending him stumbling back a step. “I’m your problem,” Anthony snapped. “Not her. Do what you came to do.”

The second man was already behind him, arms wrapping around Anthony’s chest and yanking his arms back, pinning them. Anthony struggled once, violently, but the grip tightened.

The first man recovered and stepped forward, driving a fist into Anthony’s stomach. The strike knocked the breath out of him. Anthony doubled over with a sharp grunt.

The man leaned close, voice low and vicious. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Mary stood frozen, heart pounding so hard it hurt. She wanted to scream. To run. To do something—anything—but her body wouldn’t move.

They dragged Anthony toward the doors, his boots scraping against the tile. He didn’t look back. The cold air swallowed them as the doors burst open again, rain and darkness rushing in.

Mary stumbled forward just in time to see them shove him into the back seat of a waiting car. The engine roared. Tires hissed against wet pavement. And then they were gone. Mary stood there, shaking, the hot chocolate sloshing uselessly in her hands as the station fell silent again. Outside, the rain kept falling.