The bus pulled into a transfer station in the middle of nowhere. It was a bleak concrete island surrounded by cornfields and darkness. The driver announced a twenty-minute break.

Passengers shuffled off, stretching their legs and lighting cigarettes. The air outside was damp and smelled of diesel fumes and wet asphalt.

Eva followed the crowd, her stomach twisting with hunger. She hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours. She stood near a vending machine, counting the crumpled bills in her pocket. She had money, but the fear of spending it paralyzed her. Every dollar was a lifeline.

She stared at a ham sandwich behind the glass coil. It looked dry and unappealing, but her mouth watered anyway.

The man from the bus-Hoyt-was standing a few feet away. He was drinking black coffee from a styrofoam cup and eating a pack of peanuts. He wasn't looking at her, but she felt his awareness. He seemed to know where everyone was at all times.

He finished the peanuts and crumpled the bag. He glanced over and saw her staring at the machine.

He frowned. Eva quickly looked down at her shoes, ashamed of her hunger.

Hoyt walked over to the machine. He fed a dollar bill into the slot. He pressed a button. A pre-packaged peach pie fell with a thud.

He reached into the bin and grabbed it. He didn't look at her. He just walked past her and, without breaking stride, dropped the pie into the open hood of her sweatshirt.

Eva jumped. She reached back and pulled the package out. She looked up, startled.

Hoyt was already walking away, his back broad and indifferent.

She tore the wrapper open with trembling fingers. The pie was sugary and artificial, but it tasted like heaven. She ate it in three bites, licking the sticky glaze from her thumb.

The loudspeaker crackled. "Route 402 to Blackwood Creek, boarding at Gate 3."

Eva wiped her hands on her jeans and moved toward the gate.

Hoyt was walking toward the same gate. He stopped abruptly. He turned around so fast that Eva nearly walked into his chest.

She stumbled back, looking up at him. He was glaring.

"Why are you following me?" he demanded. His voice was low and dangerous.

Eva shook her head frantically. She wasn't following him.

"You got off the bus, you hovered near me at the machines, and now you're here," Hoyt said, stepping closer. "Who are you? Did someone send you?"

Eva's heart hammered. He was paranoid. He thought she was a threat. The idea was laughable-she was a broken girl with a limp-but the look in his eyes was deadly serious.

She pointed a shaking finger at the sign above the gate: Blackwood Creek.

Hoyt narrowed his eyes. He looked at the sign, then back at her. "You live there?"

Eva hesitated. Then she nodded. It was a lie, but it was the only answer that made sense.

"Bullshit," Hoyt spat. "I know everyone in Blackwood. I've never seen you."

Eva shrank back. She didn't know how to explain without a voice. She reached into her pocket for her notepad, but Hoyt took a step back, his hand twitching toward his waist.

"Don't," he warned.

Eva froze, her hand still in her pocket.

Hoyt stared at her for a long moment, assessing her. He seemed to decide she wasn't an immediate physical threat, just a suspicious anomaly.

"Get on the bus," he said, his voice cold. "But stay away from me."

He turned and boarded the smaller connector bus. Eva waited a full minute before following.

The bus was nearly empty. Hoyt sat in the very back row, his back against the corner so he could see the entire vehicle. Eva sat three rows ahead of him.

She could feel his gaze burning into the back of her head. It was a physical weight, heavy and hot. He was watching her every move.

She pulled her sketchbook out of her bag and opened it to a blank page. She gripped her charcoal pencil, pressing down hard. She started to draw the line of his jaw, the anger in his eyes. Drawing was the only way she knew how to process fear. It turned the monsters into lines and shading. It made them manageable.

But even as she sketched, she knew this man was different. He wasn't just a monster. He was a guard dog. And right now, he was deciding whether to bite.

The sign for Blackwood Creek was rusted and leaning to the left. The bus rattled past it as rain lashed against the windows, harder now than before. The town looked gray, industrial, and dying. Boarded-up storefronts mixed with dull brick buildings. The streetlights were few and far between, casting long, eerie shadows on the wet pavement.

The bus hissed to a halt at the only station in town-a gas station with a covered bench.

Hoyt stood up before the bus had even fully stopped. He grabbed his duffel bag and marched down the aisle, ignoring Eva completely. He stepped off the bus and into the deluge.

Eva followed. She stepped down onto the curb and immediately sank her foot into a deep, freezing puddle. The cold water soaked through her sneaker and sock instantly.

She gasped, pulling her foot back. She looked around. The gas station was closed. The town was dark. There was no one around.

Hoyt walked to a black pickup truck parked in the shadows. He unlocked it, the lights flashing amber. He opened the door and tossed his bag inside.

Then he paused. He looked back.

Eva was standing on the curb, hugging her backpack, looking completely lost. The rain was plastering her hair to her skull. She looked like a drowned rat.

Hoyt slammed his truck door shut. He didn't get in. Instead, he marched back toward her, his boots splashing through the puddles. He loomed over her, blocking the rain with his sheer size.

"Who sent you?" he barked. "The Feds? A creditor? Who are you looking for?"

Eva trembled. Water dripped from the tip of her nose. She was shaking so hard her teeth were about to chatter.

She reached into her pocket for her phone.

Hoyt's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His grip was bruising. "I said, who sent you?"

Eva winced in pain. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with terror. She wasn't a spy. She was just a girl trying not to die.

Hoyt saw the genuine fear in her eyes. It wasn't the look of someone caught in a lie; it was the look of a prey animal cornered by a predator. He released her wrist abruptly, as if her skin burned him.

Eva fumbled with her phone. The screen was cracked. She opened her map app-the one she'd saved for offline use-and held it up to him. The destination pin was dropped on a location a few miles away: Mrs. Rose's Fruit Stand.

Hoyt stared at the screen. He blinked, the aggression draining out of his face, replaced by confusion.

"Mrs. Rose?" he asked, his voice skeptical. "You know Mrs. Rose?"

Eva nodded vigorously.

Hoyt looked at her, then at the time on his watch. "It's three in the morning. She's closed. She's asleep."

Eva looked at the phone, then back at him, helpless.

Hoyt ran a hand over his wet face. He looked angry at the situation, angry at her, angry at himself. He pointed down the dark, slick road.

"The motel is a mile that way. It's a dump, but it has a roof."

Eva looked where he was pointing. It was pitch black. The rain was coming down in sheets. Her leg was throbbing with a dull, persistent ache. A mile walk in this condition was impossible.

She looked back at Hoyt, pleading with her eyes.

Hoyt hardened his jaw. He turned his back on her. "Not my problem."

He walked back to his truck. He opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat.

Eva watched him go. A lump formed in her throat, hot and painful. She turned and started walking toward the darkness of the road.

Her bad leg gave out on the third step. Her knee buckled, unable to support her weight on the slick pavement. She stumbled, catching herself on a lamppost.

Inside the truck, Hoyt watched her in his rearview mirror. He saw her stumble. He saw her drag her leg.

"Dammit," he cursed, slamming his hand against the steering wheel.

Eva dragged her leg, the pain blinding. It shot up her thigh and settled in her hip. A car sped past, splashing a wave of dirty, gritty water over her legs.

She lost her balance and fell onto the muddy sidewalk. Her hands sank into the cold sludge. Her sketchbook, inside the backpack, dug into her spine.

She tried to stand, but her knee locked up. It was done. Her body had reached its limit.

She curled into a ball on the sidewalk, pulling her knees to her chest, shielding her face from the rain. She closed her eyes and waited. Maybe the cold would take her. Maybe it would be better than the harvest.

Headlights cut through the darkness behind her. Bright, white beams illuminated the rain.

A truck pulled up alongside her. The engine idled with a deep, throaty rumble.

The passenger window rolled down.

"Get in," Hoyt's voice barked out. It wasn't an invitation. It was an order.

Eva looked up, mud smeared on her cheek. She hesitated. Stranger danger screamed in her head. This man was aggressive, paranoid, and scary.

Hoyt leaned over the center console. "I'm not asking. Get in or freeze to death. Your choice."

Eva scrambled up. She grabbed the door handle and pulled. The heavy door swung open.

She climbed into the high cab. The interior was warm, blasting heat. It smelled of leather and old tobacco. It felt like a sanctuary.

She sat on the edge of the seat, trying not to touch anything with her muddy clothes. She was dripping wet, shivering violently.

Hoyt reached into the back seat and grabbed a rough, gray towel. He threw it at her. It landed on her head.

"Dry off," he grunted. "Don't ruin my seats."

Eva pulled the towel down and wiped her face. Her skin was pale, her lips blue. She dried her hair as best she could.

Hoyt watched her for a second, his eyes tracking the tremors that racked her small frame. He reached out and cranked the heater up to the maximum setting. Hot air blasted against her legs.

He put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb.

"The motel is a dump," he said, staring straight ahead at the road. "I'm not leaving a kid there. I'm taking you to the shop."

Eva's eyes widened in alarm. The shop?

Hoyt caught her look in his peripheral vision. "Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you, kid."

Kid.

He said the word with a deliberate emphasis. He was drawing a line. He was the adult; she was the child. He was the protector; she was the charity case.

Eva relaxed slightly. The term made her feel small, but it also made her feel safe. Predators didn't call their victims "kid."

She pulled out her phone and typed: Thank you.

She held it up for him to see.

Hoyt glanced at it, then back at the road. He didn't smile. He didn't say "you're welcome." He just gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Don't thank me," he muttered. "I'm just doing what Nana would want."

The rain hammered on the roof of the truck, a deafening noise, but inside the cab, Eva was finally dry. She leaned her head back against the seat and let the heat seep into her bones.