The Oregon air was different.
Cleaner, quieter. The kind of quiet that had depth to it — no sirens, no humming neon signs, no distant rumble of city tension. It took Jessie almost three weeks just to sleep through the night without waking up, certain someone was standing over her.
They had rented a small house near the edge of a sleepy coastal town, where the most exciting event each week was the farmer’s market or the local bookstore’s poetry night. Jessie got the job she'd applied for at the regional crime lab — less pressure, fewer violent cases, more routine. She clocked in, did her work, clocked out.
It was strange, at first. Routine was foreign.
So was peace.
No looming threat. No cover-ups. No carefully calculated alibis or burner phones or blood-streaked evidence. Just sunsets
