The bus terminal sat at the city's edge, washed dull by rain.
Alan's car idled under a streetlight. People waited with small suitcases, collars up, eyes tired.
Elizabeth sat in the passenger seat, clutching a thin envelope.
“Check it once more," Alan said.
She opened it. New ID. New number. New bank card.
Name: Emily Lane.
“It doesn't feel like me," she said.
“It doesn't have to," he said. “It just has to convince everyone who's looking."
She touched the bank card. “You put money on this."
“Enough to keep you alive for a while," he said. “Use it. Don't be proud and hungry."
“Alan, I—"
“Don't argue," he cut in. “You promised to pay me back someday. Fine. Call it a loan."
She gave a faint snort. “Interest rate?"
“One autograph and a ticket to your first premiere," he said. “I'm
