The time was already 8:50 PM. The streetlamps at the far end of the block flickered in and out like they were struggling to stay awake. The air in Heldale was unusually still for a Saturday night, as though the whole town was collectively holding its breath before curfew hit. Marin stood at the bus stop, the glow of the single dim bulb above her head casting a pale halo around her, and every minute felt like it stretched into three. Her feet tapped lightly against the concrete — from impatience and from the creeping awareness that she was running out of time.
Another minute passed. Then another. By now, she could practically hear Kant's voice in her head — that steady, no-nonsense tone he used whenever he planned to cover for her in subtle things: "Don't make me lie for nothing." The thought made her stomach tighten.
She'd left the party later than planned, quite caught up in the mix of music, a new company, and the strange giddiness of experiencing her first proper teen party among her peers. She had timed her exit perfectly in her head — or so she thought — but that was before she remembered the 9:00 PM agreement and Heldale's strict curfew.
Here, vehicles retired early. By exactly 8:00 PM and although curfew started by 10:00PM, the roads began emptying like water draining from a sink. After that, you hardly saw anything but the occasional bike zipping home. Now, at almost 9:00 PM, her chances of finding a ride were very slim.
She kept scanning both ends of the street, glancing over her shoulder every now and then at the dark alley behind the bus shelter. The silence in the air was broken only by the distant hum of a street-cleaning truck somewhere far off. Impulsively, she was just about to start walking — even though knowing the trek to Hillbrook Lane on foot was nearly impossible and risky— but the thought kept fiddling in her head when the low growl of an engine reached her ears.
Marin spun toward the sound. Headlights rounded the corner, cutting through the dim orange haze, and her heart leapt. She stepped forward instinctively, waving both arms in abrupt, frantic motions.
The vehicle slowed. An older model sedan, its paint slightly dulled from years of sun and rain, rolled to a stop right in front of her. The driver's window slid down with a reluctant creak, and an elderly man with thinning gray hair and heavy-lidded eyes leaned out, studying her in the cold glow of the streetlamp.
"You out here alone, miss?" he asked, voice gravelly, the faint scent of tobacco drifting out with his words.
"Yes— I mean—" Marin swallowed and forced a polite smile. "I'm heading to Hillbrook Lane. Could you take me there, please?"
The man's expression shifted ever so slightly. Hillbrook Lane wasn't just any address in Heldale. It was the crown jewel of the residential district — sprawling houses, gated driveways, security lights that stayed on all night. People in town called it "the main Heldale" because of both its location and the well-to-do people who lived there. The man's gaze sharpened.
"A place like that," he muttered slowly, " don't a young girl like you have a chauffeur to take you home?."
Marin didn't flinch, but she knew he wasn't entirely wrong. Still, she had no time to explain her family dynamics — or the fact that sneaking to a party without her guardian's knowledge meant she couldn't exactly ask for a ride from home. "Please, sir," she said quickly. "It's getting late."
He frowned, glancing toward the empty road ahead. "Late is right. I was on my way home. Don't you know the patrols will be starting soon? I don't fancy getting caught out here when the curfew sirens start."
She stepped closer to the car, the urgency in her voice cutting through her usual shyness. "I'll pay you twice the fare. Please. I just need to get home."
The man didn't move at first, the frown still drawn deep into the lines of his face. The silence stretched. Then, with a small sigh and a shake of his head, he gestured toward the passenger seat. "Fine. Get in. But you'd better be quick."
Relief washed over her so fast she nearly stumbled. "Thank you," she murmured, slipping into the seat. The cracked leather felt cold against her legs, and the faint smell of engine oil and stale air hung in the confined space. The man rolled the window back up, put the car in gear, and eased back onto the road.
The engine hummed steadily, but Marin's eyes kept darting to her watch. 8:56 PM. Her heart sank — Hillbrook was still distance away, and she could practically feel the minutes ticking away in sync with her pulse. She gripped her two hands on her lap.
"How long do you think it'll take?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even.
The man's eyes stayed fixed on the road. "Longer than you'd like," he replied bluntly. "Some of the main roads will be blocked soon, or crawling with officers. If we get stopped, that's trouble for both of us."
Marin's stomach twisted. "So…?"
"So we'll have to take a back route," he continued. "More sure, less risk. But it'll take a little longer. Still less than an hour, if I'm right."
She nodded slowly, but the truth hit her like cold water — there was no way she'd make it before the 9:00 PM as they'd planned for. Even if Kant managed to stall Madam Rowena, she might push it.
She leaned back against the seat, staring out the window at the blur of passing buildings and empty sidewalks. Every storefront they passed was already shuttered, the neon signs dead. The town looked like it had been drained of life in a matter of minutes, as though someone had simply pulled a plug and let the night swallow everything whole.
The further they drove, the darker it became. Streetlamps thinned out. The hum of the engine grew louder against the silence of the empty roads. Once in a while, she caught sight of a shadow moving — a cat darting between bins, or a figure slipping into an alley — and her nerves prickled.
The man didn't say much. Every so often, he glanced in the rearview mirror like he was checking for someone following them. Marin wondered if he was worried about the patrols… or something else.
She shifted uneasily before reaching for her phone in her pocket and pulling it out. Her phone sat cold and nearly lifeless in her palm.
She turned slightly toward the driver.
"Sir… do you, um… have a way I could charge my phone?" Her voice was tentative, almost swallowed by the hum of the engine. "Like… through the cigarette lighter? My brother's car has one."
"No point trying," he said without looking at her. "We're in the east quarter now. Dead zone for calls."
She had heard that Heldale's older sections were notorious and well-known for dead spots, mentioned from a one-time speech made by a councilman at a ceremony she and Kant had attended with their father, about the town's environmental matters and now, she had no doubt they'd entered one of them.
Her grip on the phone tightened, and she slid it back into her pocket. Kant's going to be furious, she thought. He was the one who'd covered for her in the first place — and she was the one blowing the cover they'd so carefully laid out.
As they turned down another road, she noticed how narrow it was, lined with tall fences and overgrown hedges. The air smelled faintly of damp earth, like they were skirting the edge of some wooded area. The man slowed slightly to avoid a pothole, and for a second, the only sound was the soft ticking of the car's indicator light.
She glanced at her wrist watch again 9:04 PM.
She imagined Kant back at the house, still in the living room with his mug of tea, listening for footsteps on the stairs. He'd have to buy her time now, maybe even pretend she'd gotten sick and needed quiet. But how long could he stall before Madam Rowena came down to check for herself?
The car jolted over another bump, snapping her back to the present. The driver muttered something under his breath about the state of the path they were on.
"Don't worry," he said after a moment, as though sensing her unease. "We'll get you home. Might be later than you hoped, but better late than walking alone."
She nodded. Maybe it was the assurance she didn't know she needed but her gaze kept lingering on the shadowy road ahead, a twisting ribbon of darkness that seemed to swallow the headlights whole.