PROLOGUE
Claire
Sophie packed fast, like she was afraid if she slowed down she might change her mind.
She knelt on the floor of her bedroom, folding clothes and pushing them into a single backpack.
Not neatly. Just enough to make everything fit.
She pressed down with her hands, zipped it halfway, frowned, then opened it again to rearrange things that didn’t really need rearranging.
I sat on the edge of her single bed with my legs crossed, watching her move around the room.
“You’re going to wrinkle everything,” I said.
She didn’t look up. “I don’t care.”
“You always care.” It was true. Sophie liked the clothes in her closet folded neatly. I was the exact opposite. I couldn’t be bothered that’s what was worrying me now. The way she haphazardly packed her bag. A bag that had to contain everything she needed to make it across the border.
She shrugged. “I care about getting out more.” I knew that too.
Sophie and I had been best friends since kindergarten but it didn’t take long for my parents to catch on to the fact that something was off with Sophie’s dad.
Sophie and her mom were horribly scared of him and play dates only happened at our house not Sophie’s.
I’d stayed in touch with Sophie since her mom left her dad about a year ago.
They moved towns and Sophie changed high schools.
I had to be careful getting there because there was always the fear that her dad was watching me too since he knew Sophie and I were close.
That’s why I took a bus one town over before looping around and coming back this way.
Sophie’s room in the basement apartment was small and plain, like everything else about the place.
Bare walls. A narrow bed. A dresser that stuck when you pulled the bottom drawer too hard.
It was completely different than the home she grew up in.
That home was fancy and her room was large.
Her dad was an attorney and took on big criminal cases.
But what no one knew was that behind closed doors he was a monster.
He hit her mom and yelled at her a lot. Sophie was caught in the crosshairs a few times and got smacked around too.
Her dad was a connected man. He knew law enforcement, private investigators.
The past year had been a nightmare for Sophie and her mom because it was so hard to hide from a man like Mr. Moreau.
They had no friends over. No sleepovers.
No neighbors who learned their real names.
They parked behind the house and came in through the side door. They kept to themselves.
Sophie crossed the room and tugged on the bottom drawer of her dresser. It stuck, like it always did. She yanked harder than she meant to, and the drawer slid out too fast, dumping its contents onto the floor.
“Seriously?” she muttered.
I slid off the bed and knelt beside her. Photos, loose papers, random junk scattered across the carpet.
She picked up a photo and laughed. “OMG. This one.”
She held it out to me. It was from the summer we went to camp at the community center. We were about eight years old and had missing teeth. We were standing in our sunhats and backpacks smiling at the camera. Sophie had her arm slung over my shoulders.
She picked up another picture. “And this.”
“That was when you won your first swim meet,” I said.
“It was a glorious day,” Sophie confirmed.
She had been on the competitive swim team ever since I could remember.
She was good and it gave her a reason to leave town to go on meets.
But her dad never let her mom go to see her and cheer her on and Sophie always worried about what state she would find her mother in when she returned home.
I picked up the next picture. “The chocolate cake.”
“The chocolate cake,” she repeated. Sophie had come over to my house for my fourteenth birthday and helped my mom bake a cake.
Mom had to leave to work and asked Sophie to take it out of the oven but she forgot and the cake burned so she go to work making me a new one.
I appreciated her efforts but it tasted awful.
“I’ll never be a baker.” She shrugged.
“No, but maybe you can swim for the American Olympic team,” I suggested.
“That would be a dream,” she said and we both sighed. We had high hopes that Sophie could live a normal life in America. Her mom only had enough money to get one of them across the border and she insisted Sophie should go.
We laughed quietly, sitting cross-legged on the floor, passing photos back and forth. Talking about stupid things. Old jokes. Moments that had felt small at the time but somehow mattered now.It felt normal.That almost made it worse.
“You’re really doing this,” I said eventually. I was losing my best friend even if I understood why she had to go.
Sophie nodded. “I have to.” I knew that too.
“I know. I’m actually excited for your new adventure,” I forced a smile while trying to keep my tears at bay.
Sophie didn’t have any type of ID and her mom said it would be dangerous to apply for a passport. Her dad was too well connected. They stayed away from any official documents that would make it easy for him to trace them. It kept them safe. It also kept Sophie stuck.
“I can’t go anywhere,” she said. “I can’t apply for anything real. I can’t even prove who I am half the time.” Her voice wasn’t angry. Just flat.
Her mom appeared in the doorway. “Girls,” she said softly. “We should go.”
Celine already had her coat on. Keys in her hand. She looked like she hadn’t slept.
Sophie zipped the backpack and stood. She picked up one photo and handed it to me.
“Keep this,” she said.
It was a photo of us running through the sprinklers in my backyard. We must have been ten years old.
“So you don’t forget me,” she added, joking.
“As if,” I said, stuffing it into my pocket.
The drive was quiet. Sophie sat in the front seat with her backpack between her feet.
Celine kept both hands on the wheel. I watched the road slide past and tried not to think about what came next.
The meeting spot was just outside town, where the road narrowed and the trees pressed closer together.
There was no sign, no marker just a stretch of gravel that looked the same as every other pull-off along the highway.
There were more people there than I expected.
A woman stood a few feet away from the truck, maybe in her forties.
She wore a long coat buttoned all the way up, even though it wasn’t that cold yet.
She held her purse tight against her chest, her fingers knotted around the strap.
Her eyes kept moving road, trees, road again like she was waiting for someone to appear out of nowhere.
Sophie noticed her too.
“You okay?” Sophie asked, stepping closer.
The woman startled, then let out a shaky breath. “Yes. I mean yes. I’m just… nervous.”
Sophie smiled, the kind she used when she didn’t know what else to say but didn’t want someone to feel alone. “Me too.”
That seemed to help. The woman nodded, her shoulders relaxing just a little.
A guy leaned against the side of the truck a few steps away, smoking a cigarette. He looked young early twenties maybe and far too relaxed for what was happening. He flicked his lighter closed and took another drag like this was any other night.
“This is easy,” he said, catching Sophie looking at him. “You’ll see.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done this before?”
He smirked. “Once.”
I didn’t know if that was supposed to make us feel better.
Closer to the trees stood the men who were organizing everything.
One of them stepped forward when Sophie approached. He looked normal. Friendly, even. The kind of guy you might ask for directions without thinking twice.
“You Sophie?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Good. We’re just about ready.”
Behind him was another man who didn’t say anything. He looked older, rougher. His jacket was worn at the elbows, his boots thick and scuffed. He glanced at the trees, then at the ground, like he was already mapping out the path in his head. And then there was the third one.
He stood apart from the rest, arms crossed, jaw set. He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. He watched the group with an intensity that made my skin prickle, even though I couldn’t say why.
I found myself wondering what kind of life led someone here. What choices narrowed things down to this road, this hour, this job. Sophie’s mom pulled her into a hug.
“It’s safe,” Celine said, her voice tight. “They know what they’re doing.”
“I know,” Sophie said.
She stepped back and adjusted the strap of her backpack. That was when the woman in the long coat spoke again.
“Can I ask something?” she said quietly.
Everyone turned toward her.
She swallowed. “If I can’t keep up… what happens?”
The question hung there. I watched the young friendly guy’s smile flicker, just for a second, before he answered.
“You’ll keep up,” he said.
No one said anything else.
The woman nodded like that was enough. Like that was the answer she’d been looking for.
Sophie glanced at me. I wanted to say something. Anything. But nothing came out.
Her mom hugged her again, longer this time. When she finally let go, her hands lingered on Sophie’s arms, like she was trying to memorize the feel of her. Sophie turned to me last.
“I’ll text you when I get there,” she said.
“Okay.”
“And if I don’t—”
“You will,” I said quickly.
She smiled. “Yeah. I will.”
I watched as she joined the others. The woman with the purse fell into step beside her.
The guy dropped his cigarette and ground it into the dirt with his shoes.
They moved toward the trees without looking back.
At the time, the question didn’t seem important.
It was just nerves. Just fear. Later, it was the only thing I could think about.