The truck didn't slow down once it left the neighborhood.
David kept it steady, hands locked on the wheel while the mist swallowed the road ahead. Shapes moved in it—sometimes close, sometimes just beyond sight—but nothing got near enough to stop them. The few that did try didn't last long.
Henry handled it.
Twice something rushed the truck from the side—fast, low, heavy.
They just kept moving.
Gradually, the mist began to thin.
It wasn't sudden, but it was noticeable—the air felt lighter, visibility stretching a little farther with every mile. The oppressive weight that had been sitting on their chest since entering the town finally began to ease.
Then they saw them.
Military vehicles.
First one. Then three. Then an entire line.
Barricades had been set up across the road—armored trucks, floodlights, soldiers in full gear, rifles ready. The area buzzed with controlled urgency, men shouting orders, others dragging equipment, all of them focused on the same thing—
Containing whatever was behind them.
"Stop the vehicle!" a soldier shouted, stepping forward and raising his hand.
David slowed the truck.
No choice.
Armed men surrounded them within seconds, weapons trained—not aggressively, but not casually either.
"Everyone stay where you are!" another voice ordered. "One at a time, step out of the vehicle!"
Henry watched it all quietly, eyes moving across the formation, reading it.
The back doors were opened.
People were pulled out, checked, separated. Some tried to explain, some shouted about what was inside the mist, but the soldiers weren't reacting to any of it. They just kept moving them toward a secured area.
Henry leaned slightly toward David without looking at him. "They're not letting anyone walk out of here free," he said under his breath. "This is a lockdown."
David's expression tightened. He'd already figured that much.
Madison looked between them, catching the shift. "Then what do we do?"
Henry's eyes flicked once toward the perimeter.
Then to a gap.
Not obvious.
But there.
"They're focused on the crowd," he said quietly. "We don't move with them."
Timing mattered.
When the next group was pulled from the back, when attention shifted just enough—Henry moved first, stepping down like he was being directed, blending into the flow instead of resisting it.
David followed, Billy close, Madison right behind.
They didn't run.
Running got you noticed.
They walked.
Slow. Controlled. Just another group being processed—until they weren't.
Henry angled them off slightly, guiding them behind a parked vehicle, then another. A soldier turned, but his attention snapped back when someone started shouting near the truck.
That was enough.
"Now," Henry said quietly.
They slipped past the outer line.
Once they cleared the last vehicle, Henry didn't slow anymore.
"Keep moving," he said, not looking back.
***
By the time they made it back to San Francisco, the silence felt heavier than the chaos they had left behind.
Nothing about the return felt normal.
David didn't go back to his old place.
He couldn't. The house was gone in every way that mattered, so he found somewhere else—small, temporary—and started over with Billy.
It wasn't just about a roof anymore. It was about keeping his son steady after everything he had seen. That alone was enough to keep him occupied, day and night, with no space left to process anything else.
Madison stood by him for a while after they arrived, but there wasn't much she could fix there.
Later, back at her apartment, the weight of it all finally caught up.
"I don't know what would've happened if we didn't go on that trip," she said quietly, dropping her bag and leaning back against the wall for a second, like her body had finally given up holding itself together.
Henry closed the door behind them, locking it out of habit before answering. "It would've been ugly," he said, not softening it. There was no point pretending otherwise.
Madison didn't respond to that. She just nodded once and walked to the bedroom, too exhausted to keep talking, collapsing onto the bed without even bothering to change.
Two days.
That was all it took to drain everything out of her.
Henry stayed in the living room.
His phone had been dead since two days ago, so he plugged it in and waited a few seconds before switching it on. The screen lit up—and immediately filled with notifications.
Missed calls.
Voice messages.
All from Dean.
Henry frowned slightly and opened the first one.
"Henry—look, I know you said you're taking a break, but we've got a problem. Sam's gone. Disappeared. I could use another pair of hands here."
The next one played right after.
"Hey—this is Dean. If you get this, call me back. ASAP."
Henry lowered the phone slowly, his expression tightening as the meaning settled in.
"Sam… disappeared?" he muttered under his breath.
He already knew what that pointed to.
Yellow Eyes.
The timing matched too well. It had to be time—Yellow had gathered all the special kids and started his battle royale, watching how they would survive.
It was starting.
Henry exhaled quietly, running a hand through his hair as he looked toward the bedroom where Madison was asleep.
"I really can't catch a break," he said, more to himself than anyone else.
*****
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