Chapter 1

The night before my SATs, my stepdad—the guy who had been beating me for five years—suddenly called me into his room.

Holding a debit card and a train ticket, he spoke with an eerie, deadpan calmness I had never heard from him before:

"There's 200 thousand dollars on this card. You leave first thing tomorrow morning, and you never come back."

I thought he was finally kicking me out, and honestly? All I felt was relief.

But his next words stopped me dead in my tracks:

"And by the way, your mom isn't your real mom. All these years, me hitting you... it was all an act."

I just stared at him, stunned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He looked back at me, and for the first time ever, I saw actual guilt in his eyes.

"Your biological mom is still alive. If you don't leave tomorrow, she's a dead woman."

*****

The night before my SATs, David Johnson called me into his room.

For the first time in five years, he called my name in a calm voice.

The room was dark, with only moonlight spilling in from the window. He sat at his desk, his figure as still and imposing as a mountain.

"Nina, come here," he said.

I walked over and stood in front of him, instinctively straightening my back, bracing myself for the slap I knew might come at any moment.

But he didn't move.

On the desk sat a bank card and a train ticket for a southbound train.

"There's 200 thousand dollars on the card," he said, his voice gravelly. "The train leaves at seven tomorrow morning. Go away, and never come back."

I was stunned.

After five years of beatings and indifference, I always thought he couldn't wait to get rid of me. Now that it was finally happening, honestly, I felt relieved.

I reached out to take the card and the ticket.

"Wait," he said.

My hand froze in mid-air.

He finally turned his head, and the moonlight lit up half his face. The face that was always twisted with rage now looked tired—and guilty.

"Mary Lowell isn't your real mother," he said.

My mind went numb, like I'd just been hit with a sledgehammer.

"All those years I hit you—it was all just for show," he said.

I stood there frozen, my blood turning to ice. I stared at him, completely speechless.

"What do you mean?" I finally managed to get the words out, my voice scraping out like sandpaper.

He looked at me, and for the first time, there was an emotion in his eyes I could actually understand.

It was guilt—so thick it felt like it could drown me.

"Your real mother is still alive," he said.

He spoke each word slowly, like he was pronouncing a death sentence.

"If you don't leave tomorrow, she'll die for sure," he said.

A sudden wave of vertigo washed over me.

Mary Lowell wasn't really my mom?

His beatings for the past five years had all been an act?

I had a real mom—and she was in danger?

My mind was exploding with a million thoughts. I grabbed onto the desk to keep myself from collapsing.

"Why?" I asked.

"Don't ask why," David said, standing up. His tall figure loomed over me, blocking out the light. "Remember, once you're on the train, ditch your phone card and get a new one. Don't contact anyone—especially me."

He stuffed the bank card and the ticket into my hand.

"When you get there, find a place where nobody knows you and just live your life. As for the SAT... just pretend it never happened," he said.

I clutched the card in my hand, like I was holding a red-hot iron.

"What about Mary?" I asked, the woman I'd spent eighteen years calling "Mom."

When I said her name, David's body tensed up for a moment.

"Don't let her catch on to anything," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If she asks, just tell her you left because you hate me."

My mind was a mess, but my body was already moving on autopilot.

Back in my room, I stuffed the card and the ticket into the very bottom of my backpack.

I didn't have any luggage. There was nothing in this house I wanted to take with me.

I sat on the edge of my bed, unable to sleep all night.

At five in the morning, I slipped out quietly.

In the living room, David was leaning against the couch, looking like he hadn't slept either. When he saw me, he stood up and handed me an old phone.

"Use this. The SIM is clean," he said.

I took it and gave a small nod.

When I got to the door, I paused.

"What's my birth mother's name?" I asked.

David stayed silent for so long, I almost thought he'd never answer.

"Once you're safe, I'll figure out how to let you know," he finally said.

I opened the door and stepped out.

It was still before dawn, the air sharp and chilly. I glanced back at the place I'd spent five years calling "home," but honestly, I felt nothing at all for it.

The train was leaving at seven, so I got to the station a whole hour early.

While waiting in the lounge, I pulled out the old phone David had handed me and powered it up.

There was just one unread text, no sender listed.

"Once you're on the train, first thing—check the hidden pocket in your backpack."

My heart skipped a beat. I immediately unzipped my backpack and reached into the deepest, most hidden pocket, my fingers brushing against something small and solid.

It was a flash drive.

Just then, they announced boarding.

I boarded the train and found my seat. As the train slowly pulled out of the station, the city lights slipped away outside the window.

At last, I was free from that prison.

I leaned back in my seat, and for the first time in ages, the tension in my body finally started to ease.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from an unknown number, only three words.

"You dare run?"