Broken Wings and Burning Roads

Somewhere Between Running and Nowhere The map said Raven Hill. It wasn’t a dot, barely a smudge of ink on the page. A town you could miss if you blinked too long while driving through it. And that’s exactly what I wanted—something quiet, something no one would look twice at. Something not worth chasing. I drove until my eyes ached and my hands cramped around the wheel. I passed gas stations that doubled as liquor stores, convenience marts with dust-covered windows, and motels so grimy even the cockroaches looked offended. Then I saw it—faded signage, peeling paint, and a skyline full of trees instead of high-rises. Raven Hill. I didn’t have a plan. I never did anymore. The only constant was the bag in my backseat and the ache in my chest that refused to quit. I’d been running for so long, I wasn’t even sure I remembered what staying felt like. Every time I thought I could breathe, something—someone—showed up to prove me wrong. Still, something about this place... it felt different. The fat greasy looking guy at the Black Bird Diner said he needed help and that the uniform was “whatever didn’t have holes in it.” That was it. No questions, no paperwork, no references. Just a quiet nod and a battered apron tossed in my direction. That’s how Sadie—this version, anyway—came to be a waitress. I look in the mirror sometimes and barely recognize myself. Long dark hair I keep pinned up, green eyes that flick over every corner like I expect ghosts to show up in the shadows. Tired eyes. I've got the kind of face people say is "pretty, in a haunted way." Like I’ve seen too much, which—spoiler alert—I have. I’ve used more names than I care to count, shed identities like snakeskin. But something about Sadie stuck. She’s stronger and feistier than the others. Wears pain like armour. She doesn’t smile unless she has to. She watches, waits. She tries not to get attached. And maybe—just maybe—she’s the one who’s finally going to stop running. "Here's your coffee, sir. I'll be right over with your breakfast." "Yeah, it's taken so damn long I might as well have ordered lunch." "So sorry about that, I'm new and still getting the hang of things. I’ll be right back." Ugh. He is definitely not a morning person. I can relate—but man, at least I’m not rude to people trying to do their job before 7 AM. I turn, trying not to drop the chipped ceramic mug still steaming in my hand, and walk straight into a wall. Except—it isn’t a wall. It's stone hard, yes. Immovable, yes. But warm. And breathing. I look up, heart in my throat. Yep. Definitely not drywall. It’s a man. A giant one. Towering over me like he was carved from concrete and bad decisions. He looks down, his frown deep enough to bury a secret in. “s**t, I’m so sorry,” I mumble, my voice a squeaky mess as I scurry away into the kitchen. I can practically feel myself turning into a tomato. Great. Real smooth, Sadie. Peeking around the corner like a coward, I half-hope he’s leaving. No such luck. Karma has a way of kicking you in the teeth when you’re already flat on your back. The mountain I just body-slammed sits himself down right in my section—with another guy. Of course he does. Absolutely. Peachy. Way to go, Anna. Or Sadie. Or whatever the hell my name is supposed to be today. I take a deep breath and plaster on my “I-am-the-best-waitress-please-tip-generously” face. Mr. Ol’ Grumpy's breakfast is first. I drop the plate down gently and offer a smile that feels more like a grimace. Now, onto Trouble & Trouble. They’re mid-conversation, voices low, posture tense. You don’t need to be a genius to know there’s history between them—and not the good kind. The moment they spot me, the air shifts. Stiffens. Whatever they were about to say dies on their tongues.