The bus finally wheezed to a stop. Dust kicked up as the doors folded open. Alexander grabbed his bag, stepped down, and stared at the place that was supposed to "change him." A small town. Quiet. Worn. Houses looked tired. Streets cracked. No perfume in the air—just earth, smoke, and the heat of somewhere forgotten.
No welcome sign. No name tag. Just a rusty bench and a gas station that looked half-dead.
A man in overalls stood by a pickup truck, squinting. "You Alex?"
Alexander nodded.
"Throw your bag in the back," the man said, already climbing into the driver's side. "Name's Carl. I run the mechanic shop. You'll be working for me. You do what I say, when I say. Don't talk back. You eat when we're done. Got it?"
Alexander didn't reply, just threw the bag in and got in the truck. The ride was bumpy. Carl's place sat behind the station—an old red garage, oil stains everywhere, broken tools, barking dogs. A small wooden cabin sat nearby. Looked like it could fall over if you sneezed too hard.
"You'll sleep in the cabin. No Wi-Fi. No maid. You clean up after yourself," Carl said, tossing a key. "Up by five. Work at six. You're late, you're out."
That night, Alexander lay on a lumpy bed, staring at the stained ceiling. No silk sheets. No distant jazz music. Just silence. And crickets. And his thoughts chewing through his head like rats. His hands were too soft. His shoes too clean. He didn't belong here. Not yet.
He woke late. The phone didn't charge. No alarm. Carl was already outside when he rushed out, pulling on his shirt.
"First day and you're already late," Carl grumbled.
They started with tires. Then oil. Then cleaning the toilets. By noon, his back ached, palms burned, stomach growled. Carl handed him a dry sandwich. No drink.
He sat on a crate, chewing slowly, staring at the dusty road. Then he saw her.
A girl. Walking past the garage with a bag of groceries. Sunlight caught her hair—dark curls tied back in a loose knot. Brown skin, smooth like copper in summer. She glanced at him.
He looked away too fast.
Carl saw it. "That's Lila. Lives down the street. Don't waste your time. She's got no patience for pretty boys."
He said nothing. But her face stuck in his head like a splinter under skin.
Days passed. His muscles started to catch up with his will. Hands tougher. Carl barked less. He kept seeing her—at the store, near the creek, once at the old church gate. Each time, just a glance. But each glance lasted longer.
Then one day, she stopped. Right in front of him.
"You're the new one," she said.
"Yeah. Alex."
"From the city, right?"
"Something like that."
She raised a brow, smiled a little. "You look like you don't know what dirt is."
He laughed. For the first time in weeks, he actually laughed. "I'm learning."
She tilted her head. "I'm Lila."
And then she left. Just like that. But the way she said her name—it echoed.
Next day, he found her at the store. He didn't even try to be subtle.
"Hey."
She turned, smirked. "Following me now?"
"Maybe."
They talked. Nothing deep. Just little things. Music. Food. Creek spots. She liked old books. Her mom worked long shifts. She had a little brother who ate too much candy.
"I take care of him mostly," she said.
He listened. Really listened. Her voice didn't sound like anyone back home. She wasn't trying to impress him. She didn't even know who he was.
Later, by the creek, she said, "So... why are you here? Really."
He paused. Could've lied. Should've. But her eyes didn't deserve lies.
"I messed up. Had to start over."
She didn't press. Just nodded.
The next few days blurred. Creek visits. Laughter. Sandwiches shared on rusty benches. He started to feel something real growing in his chest—something warm, something dangerous.
Then one night, after a long shift, he headed back to the cabin.
Someone was waiting.
Tall. Designer shoes in the dirt. Familiar smirk.
Nathaniel.
"What are you doing here?" Alexander asked.
Nathaniel smiled like a vulture. "Just checking in."
Alexander stepped back. His heart thumped hard. Nathaniel never showed up without a reason.
And if he was here—
Something bad was coming.