LILY
The Wichita station was smaller than Denver's, quieter, with fluorescent lights that flickered like dying stars. I stepped off the train at 9:47 AM according to the digital clock above the information desk, my legs unsteady after hours of sitting.
The station was nearly empty except for a janitor mopping the floors and a security guard who barely glanced up from his newspaper.
I had no plan. No destination. No one to call.
The realization hit me like a physical blow as I stood there with Alessa's envelope of cash and my hospital bracelet still wrapped around my wrist. I was truly, completely alone.
The automatic doors slid open as I approached them, and the November air cut through my thin sweatshirt like a knife. I should have asked Alessa for a coat, but I'd been too focused on
