The morning passed like any other in the Hedgehog farm.

  Stephen left first, coat slung over his shoulder, saying something about the town office and the new shipment. Barnes followed him. Finn, still groggy, shoved a granola bar in his mouth; he told Stephen to let Sue sleep and promised to check on her around noon.

  It was not until the sun was high and the cicadas had begun their noontime shriek that Finn came back to the quiet house and knocked on Sue’s door.

  He knocked twice, and pushed it open with his elbow, carrying a tray with toast, apple slices, and a glass of milk.

  “Hey sleepyhead. You’re missing all the morning cartoons.”

  No answer.

  He grinned, nudging the tray onto her desk with a clatter.

  “C’mon, I even peeled the apple.”

  Still nothing.

  His smile faltered. He looked at the bed - it looked like she was still curled under the blanket. But there was no rise or fall, no movement of breath.

  A frown stitched itself across his forehead.

  “Sue?” He stepped closer to the bed. And pulled the blanket back.

  Under it was her ugly long-legged teddy bear.

  His hands dropped to his sides. He turned slowly, eyes scanning the room like it might give him an explanation.

  He checked her closet. Half of her clothes were gone. Her bag, too.

  On her windowsill sat a small pair of scissors and the dry husk of honey cake wrapper.

  His stomach turned cold.

  On her desk, he saw a note.

  “I’ll be back before the school year starts. Please don’t look for me.”

  Finn read it three times before the words made any sense.

  Then he rushed downstairs, grabbed the truck keys, and tore out the driveway so fast he nearly took down the mailbox. Stephen was on his way back to the house when he saw his truck veer out onto the main road.

  “Finn! What happened?” He yelled, but the truck kept speeding away, no answer.

  It was not until he reached the edge of the orchard road that Finn spotted a familiar cart coming the other way - two cows pulling a rickety load of crates, and m’ster Daleys in the front.

  He slammed the brakes and jumped out.

  “Did you see her?!”

  M’ssus Daleys blinked at him from beneath her wide sunhat.

  “You mean Suzy? Yeah we took her to the bus stop this morning?”

  “You - what?”

  “She said Stephen was driving her but she didn’t want to wake him up,” M’ster Daleys said slowly. “Said she was visiting her uncle. Town - bound. What? You didn’t know?”

  Finn stood there, heart sinking like a stone.

  “Good Lord, no…”

  Without a good explanation for the flabbergasted couple on the cart, Finn jumped back in the truck, started the engine and veered back to the farm’s direction.

  “We don’t know where she went. But by now she should be far off from the town,” said Stephen, sighing. He had been sitting still - exhausted, speechless - with the two - sentence note from his stepdaughter crumpled in his weathered hand for a good thirty minutes since Finn returned and told him everything.

  “Maybe if I get to the town now, someone might know something. She can’t be that far off!” Finn’s voice rose, wild and cracking “ She must have snuck out just before dusk. She knew she wouldn’t make it out in the middle of the night. She can’t be far!”

  Stephen said nothing. He just shook his head.

  “What? M’ster Stephen, are you not going to find her??”

  Another head shake.

  “What’s wrong with you? She might get herself in danger!” For the first time in his thirteen years on Hedgehog Farm, Finn raised his voice at the man who raised him

  Stephen did not flinch.

  “You know nothing, James.”

  He slapped the note down on the table.

  “That’s why she left.

  He stood up, pushed the chair back with a violent scrape, and walked over to the window.

  “To her it’s like we’re keeping her in a cage. She never got to do anything on her own!” His hands shot up as he spoke, movements wild, as though he was trying to swat away the blame. “It’s all my fault. All because I’m not a good guardian! And most of it - most of it is because I’m not her father!”

  He turned, eyes glassy, jaw clenched.

  “That kid wanted to live her life? Fine. Let her have it. I’m not going to find her. She better have a damn good plan, running off like that, because if she gets herself into something terrible, that’s on her!”

  And he jabbed a finger toward Finn.

  “And mark my word, James - I’m not going to look for her. She snuck out, so she can come back the same way.”

  He threw his shirt over his shoulder and headed toward his room, leaving Finn standing in stunned silence.

  “Get yourself something to eat and a good rest,” Stephen called over his shoulder, voice gruff. “Those damn trees won’t cut themselves!”

  By the time the eye of the storm was dominating the Hedgehog Farm, Sue had already been faraway.

  The train rumbled steadily beneath her, each turn of the wheels like a heartbeat ticking away the miles between her and everything she knew.

  She sat by the window, chin resting on her hand, eyes fixed on the blurred lines of the farmland and fading trees that sped fast. Her backpack was tucked between her feet, one hand curled protectively around its strap. The stamp album pressed against her side like a secret. She had not opened it yet. Not since she left.

  The morning light slanted across the train car, warm and soft. A baby cried in the next row. Somewhere behind her, someone was humming off-key. She swallowed hard and tried not to think about the Daleys’ cart, or the soft thum of the truck door closing, or the crunch of boots in gravel.

  Maybe we shouldn’t be here. The voice came again, quieter this time. She closed her eyes. It’s too late.

  The conductor passed by without glancing at her. No one seemed to notice she was just a girl with a badly packed bag and nowhere to be exactly. That comforted her, and scared her too.

  She had imagined it so many times before. Leaving the farm. Going somewhere new. But when was actually on her way, every thrill of independence tangled with a thread of guilt.

  She could picture Finn walking into her empty room. Stephen sitting at the table with the note.

  She hated imagining their faces.

  Especially Finn’s.

  But she thought if she stayed too long, she would break.

  The curtain was pulled open wider by someone sitting at the back of her. The hills were going steeper, the trees taller and denser. Somewhere beyond them lay Branwick.

  The city from the postcard and stamps.

  The place from stories.

  The old capital.

  Her heart leapt, then sank.

  And though she never prayed to any Gods before, a prayer started whispering inside her head. She prayed that no one would look for her.

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  Sue had never been that far away from home, all on her own.

  The sloppy hills and vast green meadows tinted with red, white, yellow flowers were left behind. The train carved its way through the mountains like a silver thread pulled tight against a quilts of evergreen. Peaks soared on either side, draped in veils of mist and pale morning light. Here and there, old stone cottages clung to the slopes like stubborn thoughts, their chimneys puffing smoke into the air. The valleys ran deep - blue and shadowed, glimmering faintly with thawing streams.

  Sue sat still, her breath fogging up the windowpane. She traced the edge of a distant ridge with her eyes, wondering what it would be like to live up there, hidden in the folds of the world. The scene outside was too grand, too gentle, too far removed from the clamor in her chest.

  Her finger twisted in her lap. Her coat itched at the sleeves.

  Excitement had carried her like a gust of wind when she boarded the train before sunrise, but now that the sky was brightening and the shadows had softened, doubt began to settle into her bones.

  Stephen had always warned her about the way the world bit, how a pretty view could distract one’s from the cliff beneath. And she had listened - until the very moment she had sneaked out in the dim gray blue. She had never, even at that moment, imagined it would feel like a crime.

  She could not stop thinking of his face - tight - jawed and tired, the kind of exhaustion he never let anyone see. She could not stop thinking about Finn, probably wandering through the orchard calling her name, not knowing he would never find her there. The orchard would be golden that time, in the morning.

  She hated that she could still see it so clearly.

  But still, beneath the guilt, brighter than it had any right to be, was a thrill. A quiet, rising note in her chest - like a hymn she did not know the words to. A song only she could hear.

  And just like that, as though summoned by that strange flicker of hope, Branwick appeared.

  The train rounded a final bend, and the town unfolded below like something out of a fairytale storybook: red - roofed houses clustered along the river, tall church spires catching the light, smoke rising slowly and silver from chimney stacks. A city once noble, now sleepy, nestled in a cradle of hills. She had only seen it on stamps and on the postcard; but then she saw that those were perfect miniatures in faded ink.

  The brakes let out a long, tired sigh as the train pulled into the station. Sue clutched her suitcase and stood, her legs stiff with nerves.

  You asked for this. You wished for this. She told herself.

  And so she stepped off the train, into the air of a town and did not know her name.

  The air in Branwick was sharper than she expected. It felt almost like that city had held back spring and summer had to wait for their long farewell before it could enter. Not too cool, exactly - but old, like pages turned in a book too many times. The train behind her hissed and groaned, and then quieted like a sleeping beast. She clutched her backpack tighter and took her first step into the city.

  Sue had imagined Branwick as a place of splendor - white colonnades and gilded carriages, the kind of city where queens strolled gardens and men wore gloves just to buy bread. SHe thought of gold - always gold. The outline of a crown. A city bathed in royal light.

  Branwick, the old capital, was not shining.

  At least, not in the way she imagined.

  Stone buildings leaned slightly with age, their facades darkened with soot and time. The shutters hung crooked, flowers bloomed wild in cracked window boxes, and ivy had claimed every wall like a forgotten promise. Cobbled streets curved gently into alleys that disappeared too easily, and roofs sloped like shoulders too old to stand tall.

  Yet it was beautiful.

  The city felt like an old man - one who had seen things, and remembered them all. There was something in the air, something still like an echo. Sue thought if she stood very still, she could hear the footsteps of a crownless king or the laugh of a princess who once rode a bicycle through the square.

  And she continued wandering.

  She crossed a bridge of stone, weathered and moss - grown, and followed the river as it sang softly against its bank. She walked past shutters half - opened, bakeries with their morning loaves long gone, and store windows cluttered with antiques no one had dusted in years.

  The town square opened before her like a treasure chest: pigeons, statues and a fountain that no longer worked. And there, rising above all, was the church. Tall, grey, gothic - a cathedral in the shape of a guardian. Its spire pierced the sky. Gargoyles perched like tired sentinels, and its great doors stood shut as if protecting something to sacred to name.

  She stood for a long time. Just breathing.

  It felt like she had time - traveled like those people in the cartoons she watched.

  But immediately the spell broke.

  Her stomach growled.

  She blinked, and suddenly she was not a traveler in a fairytale anymore.

  She was a seventeen - year - old girl who had just eaten a mini honey cake since dawn.

  She wandered again, this time with purpose. She passed cafes with gold lettering and tables spilling into the street, but the menus posted at the door made her shoulders sink. Everything cost more than she had hoped. Her savings were not meant for coffee and cake.

  So she turned back. Past the bridge, past the shuttered windows and back to the station.

  There was a vending counter tucked beside a bench, and for a few coins, she bought a meal pack: a sandwich with marmalade sealed in plastic, a boiled egg with pale crack down its side, and a bottle of fizzy soda. She smiled a little at that - Stephen never let her drink soda. Said it rotted the teeth and the brain. But then she could.

  She took her lunch to the town square. The sun might have slept a little too much that day, but it was still a bright day. She sat on a bench under a tree, her backpack at her feet. And she took a bite of her sandwich. It was dry and sweet. The soda hissed when she opened it, the sound sharp and bright like a laughter.

  She had hardly taken the first sip of her soda when she heard it - a sound that cut through the station’s slow hum like a snapped branch.

  A sharp, shrill meow.

  She turned her head.

  Across the square, in a side alley littered with old posters and broken crates, a cluster of children was cornering something.

  A kitten.

  No. Two.

  One already limp, the other twisting in frantic circles, its tail caught in a string tied to a stick.

  The children were laughing.

  One of them picked up the limping one and started spinning it, and threw it in a bush.

  The kitten then limped out, trembling and hissing.

  Sue stood up, soda slipping from her fingers and fizzing across the stone. She did not even glance at it. Her feet moved before her mind caught up, striding straight toward them.

  “Stop that,” She said.

  The tallest boy, who was holding the stick, turned around. “Are those yours?”

  “No, but let them go!”

  One of the younger ones ran to the bush for the kitten that had been thrown. The poor creatures hissed and tried to run away when it saw the imminent torture.

  He picked it up.

  “I said stop!” Sue shouted - she ran over to the boy, stole the kitten from his hands and pushed him.

  Then she ran to the one with the stick, kicked him in his part and stole the stick with the string tied to the kitten.

  The stick clattered. The kittens bolted, limping toward a crack in the wall. The children froze - then surged toward her like a tide.

  Sue had not thought that through.

  There were five of them. And she was even just as tall as the oldest one. Though she had the advantage of rage, she did not have the weight. The first boy grabbed her wrist; she yanked free and slapped him across the cheek. Another shoved her from behind and she stumbled, catching herself.

  The kitten had vanisheds.

  Then someone’s foot hooked around her ankle.

  She went down hard.

  They swarmed her. A knee landed on her stomach. Fists rained, not heavy, but fast - anger and cruelty in small, mean packages. Someone kicked her side. Another boy, cheeks blotched with fury, climbed on top of her and swung his fist toward her face.

  Her mind went blank.

  Pain flashed white behind her eyes.

  All she could do was cover her face with her arms and swing her legs helplessly.

  “Hey!”

  There came a new voice. Older. Firm.

  Everything stopped for a second.

  Strong hands reached down, grasped her under her arms, and pulled her up in one fluid motion. For a moment, Sue felt weightless, still dizzy from the fight, and found herself steadied against someone solid and warm.

  She looked up.

  He was not some hulking hero from a storybook. He was lean but strong, with an economy of movement that suggested he knew exactly what his body could do. Black hair fell across his forehead, so dark it seemed to catch blue highlights in the sunlight. His face was all angles - high cheekbones, a straight nose, and dark eyes that were currently fixed on the children with a look that made them shuffle their feet.

  “Stop it,” the voice said again. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”

  The oldest boy spat on the ground. “She started it. Attacked us over some mangy cats.”

  The hands remained steady in Sue's arms. “Five against one. Real brave.” His tone was dry, unimpressed. “How about you clear out before I decide to even those odds?”

  She froze. Her fists had stopped mid - air.

  Her breath hitched.

  She could still hear the children, but now their voices were different.

  Running feet.

  Yelps.

  And the sound of broomstick thwacking air.

  Sue turned, blinking against the haze, and saw two old figures chasing the children off - an elderly woman in a floured apron, swinging her broom like a sword, and a balding man with a walking stick, puffing furiously as he hobbled after them.

  Only then did she realize she was still being held.

  His hands were firm under her arms, but not rough. Holding her like one would be a bird too stunned to fly. There was a scent of citrus.

  She flushed, all at once - cheeks burning, lips parted, dirt in her hair, marmalade on her sleeve.

  “I’m fine,” She said quickly.

  “Didn’t really look like it,” He replied.

  He put her down.

  She turned back, facing him.

  And she brushed even harder when he reached for her little hands and spread them out to see the bruise.

  The old couple came closer.

  “Those stray bastards!” said the woman. “Are you alright, young lady?”

  Sue was too stunned to speak a word.

  “Poor child! She’s still terrified,” said the old man. “Why don’t you come inside? Let us see to your wounds. Brandon, you can leave her to us!”

  So the boy's name was Brandon. He nodded and replied. “That would be great. Thank you, Mst. and Mrs. Fergusson.”

  “Wa.a..a.wait,” Sue mumbled. “The kittens. I have to find them, the kittens.”

  “So you’re really fighting over some kittens,” said Brandon and smiled. “It’s alright. You come inside with them, I’ll look. Did you see where they ran too?”

  Sue pointed to the cracks on the wall. At that point she was swallowed with the weird coyness of a girl, so deep that she could not speak. She did not dare to look that boy in the eyes and her cheeks were burning.

  Brandon nodded and ran over to the crack.

  “Come here, dear!” Mrs. Ferguson led her to their home, followed by her husband.

  As Mrs. Ferguson guided her past the town square, Sue casted on one last glance over her shoulder. Brandon was still crouched by the wall, making soft clicking sounds with his tongue as he searched for the kittens.

  Mst. and Mrs. Ferguson’s home was a bakery, located on the river’s bank. The old couple’s shop smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon, so different from the apple - scent of home. Sue’s bruised hands trembled slightly as the door closed behind her, sealing her into this new chapter of her life - the one she had chosen, for better or worse.