“Sanctuary.”
Something shifted in his face. His jaw tightened. His eyes went hard. But his hands stayed gentle.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Emma. Emma Bradley.”
I watched the color drain from beneath his beard. He knew that name.
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“Sanctuary.”
Something shifted in his face. His jaw tightened. His eyes went hard. But his hands stayed gentle.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Emma. Emma Bradley.”
I watched the color drain from beneath his beard. He knew that name.
For twenty-three years, I drove the highways most people barely noticed. I knew the forgotten exits, the empty stretches of pavement, and the lonely…