The bus hummed steadily beneath her, the vibrations soothing in a strange, unfamiliar way. Trash sat curled in the corner of her seat at the very back, the faded hoodie pulled over her head, the wet bag clutched tightly in her lap. Her fingers brushed the zipper every few seconds like a nervous tic, as if checking to make sure it hadn’t vanished.

The world outside the window blurred past in streaks of green and grey and blue. Trees melted into small towns; little buildings clustered around cracked roads. Trash pressed her forehead lightly to the cool glass, watching.

Her lips parted slightly when they passed a gas station, so many people, so many cars. A child ran out from the convenience store with a sticky red drink in hand, and Trash blinked hard. She popped open the window slightly, and so many smells hit her all at once: grease, sugar, plastic, sweat, perfume, and while the scent of wolves was there, it was faint. No pack scent. No dominance pressing down on her shoulders like a weight.

She breathed in, shakily. Free.

Fields came next. Then long empty stretches of road. Then house so many houses, and all different. Some with gardens, some with broken fences, all of them open in a way that pack homes never were. People lived here… without fear. Without rank. Without chains or orders or punishments.

Her fingers gripped the bag tighter.

Time passed, and slowly, the world outside began to change again. The bus veered onto a wider road, and the buildings grew taller, clustered together like teeth, shimmering glass and sharp edges reflecting the low evening sun. Trash sat up straighter, heart pounding.

Then the bus crested a hill, and she saw it. The city.

It rose in front of her like something out of another life. Massive towers scraped the sky. Bright lights blinked on in windows even though the sun hadn't set. Cars, so many cars, moved in lines. People flowed across sidewalks, carrying bags, holding hands, talking, laughing. Giant metal birds, planes swooped in the sky far above, their roar distant.

Trash stared, breath caught in her throat.

She had never seen so much. Never imagined it could be real.

Her wolf stirred softly inside her, as stunned as she was. This was beyond the stories the older omegas whispered before they were taken. This wasn’t survival, this was living.

The woman from earlier had said the airport was here. Somewhere. And from the airport… she could go farther. Maybe even disappear.

Trash pulled her hoodie down a little further, but for the first time in her life, she wasn’t trying to hide her fears. She was trying to hide her smile.

She wasn’t anyone’s property. Not anymore.

The bus rumbled into the city, and Trash held her bag tight. This time, she was choosing where to go.

The bus gave a loud hiss as it rolled to a stop. Trash clutched her bag tighter. Her heart raced, and her legs trembled beneath her. She watched as the other passengers stood and gathered their things. Slowly, nervously, she followed them, mimicking the way they moved.

She stepped off the bus and into a world that swallowed her whole.

The city was deafening. So many people. So much sound. Cars honking, voices overlapping, smells she couldn’t name choking the air.

She froze on the sidewalk, unsure where to go. All around her were signs bright, flashing, printed in bold letters she couldn’t understand. Trash stared at them, willing them to make sense, but the letters twisted like tangled wire.

She bit her lip. Hard.

You can do this, her wolf whispered.

A woman in a blue coat brushed past, and Trash reached out quickly, timidly. “Excuse me…” she said, keeping her head down. Her voice was almost a whisper.

The woman paused. “Yes?”

Trash hesitated, struggling to string her words together. “I—I need to get to… the airport. Or far away.”

The woman’s expression softened at the sight of her. “The airport? It’s not close, honey. You’ll need to take a shuttle or the train.”

Trash swallowed. “I can’t… read. The signs. I don’t know how.”

The woman blinked, then nodded as understanding bloomed on her face. “Okay. That’s okay. Come with me.”

Trash followed the woman inside the terminal, staying close but silent. The woman walked her to a counter, spoke quickly with the person behind the glass, then turned back.

“There’s a shuttle leaving soon. Over there.” She pointed to a wide metal door with a number above it. Trash’s eyes followed her finger, even though the numbers meant nothing to her.

“I… won’t know which one,” she admitted. “Can you tell them… for me?”

“I’ll walk you there myself,” the woman said with a gentle smile.

They walked through the terminal together, and Trash kept her gaze low, flinching anytime someone brushed too close. At the shuttle gate, the woman flagged down the driver and spoke to him in low tones. The driver nodded, then looked at Trash. “I’ll make sure you get to the airport,” he said.

Trash looked at the woman, trying to find the right words. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The woman gave her hand a soft squeeze. “Be safe, okay?”

Trash nodded, not trusting her voice.

As the bus doors opened, she climbed in and took a seat at the very back, crouching low so no one could see her through the windows. The engine rumbled to life. Trash peered out just as the city lights blinked around her, overwhelming and strange.

The shuttle pulled away, leaving Trash at the curb in front of the sprawling glass-and-metal building. She stared up at it, clutching her damp bag tighter to her chest.

The airport was huge.

Doors opened automatically with a soft hiss, and cold air swept over her skin as she stepped inside. Her feet, still sore from the run through the woods, hesitated on the slick floor. Everything smelled like metal, coffee, and too many people in a rush.

She kept to the walls, head down, moving like a shadow past the chaos.

Her stomach growled loudly, and she winced. She hadn’t eaten since she ran. Since she jumped.

A quiet corner near a wall of windows caught her eye. Trash slipped behind a wide metal pillar and crouched down. Her fingers trembled as she unzipped her bag. She pulled out one of the crushed granola bars and peeled the wrapper carefully. It was sticky and sweet, and it stuck to her teeth, but it filled her enough to quiet the gnawing ache in her belly.

She ate another bar more slowly this time, watching the people. Some moved fast with things on wheels behind them, others sat and stared at glowing signs or screens she didn’t understand. Everything moved here. Everything buzzed with purpose.

She finished chewing the last bite and realised her throat hurt. Dry. Raw. She needed water.

Trash scanned the wide-open space until she noticed something: people walking into a set of doors, women to one side, men to the other. She watched a moment longer, then stood and followed the women’s path.

Inside, it was bright and echoed with the sounds of running water, footsteps, and voices. She paused just inside the door, her eyes locking on the sinks. The moment the coast was clear, she darted forward and cupped her hands under one of the motion-sensor faucets. The cool water splashed, startling her, but she drank greedily, ignoring the odd looks cast when two women walked in.

She drank until her stomach ached. When she lifted her head, water dripped from her chin. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and flinched from the sting on her bruised cheek.

She turned her face away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight of it.

She moved toward the stalls, pausing before the strange doors. One opened, and a woman walked out. Trash hurried into it before it shut, locking the latch with a soft click. She looked around the tiny space, then used the bathroom. After, she sat down on the closed lid, tucked her knees to her chest, and quietly lifted her feet off the floor.

Just to breathe.

The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above her. The air smelled like lemon and something too clean to be real. But here, in this small stall, she was alone. She was still free.

Her wolf pressed against the inside of her skin, anxious but quiet, offering comfort in silence.

They’d made it this far. Trash closed her eyes and rested her head against the stall wall.

She just needed to figure out what to do next. She left the bathroom following a group of people.

Trash waited in the line, shuffling forward one careful step at a time, her eyes darting from person to person. She watched how they stepped up to the counter, handed over paper or plastic cards, nodded, and walked away with thin slips in their hands. She clutched her envelope of money tight against her chest.

The fluorescent lights above buzzed, too bright. The buzz in her head matched it.

When it was her turn, she stepped up to the counter and stood awkwardly in front of the man behind the glass. He was typing something, eyes fixed on his screen, his expression blank and tired.

“I need a plane ticket to go far away,” Trash said quietly.

The man didn't look up. “Where are you trying to go?”

“Far away,” she repeated.

With a sigh, he finally glanced up and froze.

His eyes dropped to her swollen cheek, the bruises, the cracked lip, the strange way she held herself like she was afraid to speak. He blinked. “Far away…?”

Trash nodded. “Yes, far, far away.”

He hesitated. “That could be anywhere. Where do you want to go?”

She chewed her lip, thinking. “Where would be far away for you?”

The man tilted his head, a little thrown. “Seattle?”

“I’ll go there.”

He paused again, typing slowly. “You know it’s expensive, right? You’ll need about $1,300 for that.”

Trash nodded and pulled out the envelope. “I have a thousand dollars. It’s enough to buy a plane ticket and go far, far away.” She recited the words like a spell, like Gabrielle’s voice still whispered them in her ears.

The man looked at her again, really looked. The way her clothes didn’t fit quite right. The scars peeking from her collar. Her too-careful way of speaking.

She didn’t understand what she was doing.

He tapped a few more keys, then looked back at her. “Okay. For a thousand, I can get you to Kansas. That’s far away too. You’d like that, right?”

Trash nodded slowly. “Far away is good.”

He pulled up the screen for payment. “I’ll need your name and ID.”

She looked around, confused, then leaned in close and whispered, “My name is Trash.”

He blinked again, startled. “Is that… your real name?”

She nodded, lips pressed together like she was afraid of saying it too loud.

“Do you have a last name?”

She looked puzzled. “My name is Trash,” she said again, quieter this time.

The pity in his eyes was sharp. “Okay… do you have any ID?”

Trash hesitated, then held up the envelope of money again. “I have this. The thousand dollars.”

The man sighed and looked over at his coworker. “I need a minute.”

He stepped away, whispering to a woman in a blazer nearby. She glanced over at Trash, then nodded.

A few moments later, the woman approached her with soft eyes and a clipboard. “Hi, sweetheart. Can you come talk with me for just a second?”

Trash picked up her envelope and bag, nodding cautiously.

They walked a few feet away. The woman bent slightly so she was eye level.

“Do you know what this is?” the woman asked, holding up a piece of plastic.

Trash looked at it and shook her head.

“It’s something you need to travel on a plane. It’s like… proof of who you are.”

Trash's breath hitched, and tears welled in her eyes. She turned her face away, wiping them fast.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said gently. “Without one, I can’t sell you a ticket.”

“But I have money,” Trash whispered brokenly. “That’s what the paper numbers are called.”

The woman nodded. “I know. But you still need ID. If you don’t have one… maybe you could try a bus. Sometimes they don’t check as hard. I can call someone for you if you need help.”

Trash stared down at the floor. Her throat felt raw again, but not from thirst.

“No, I don’t need help. Thank you,” she whispered. Then she turned, clutching her bag, and walked away.

She didn’t look back.