The bus station was colder than she expected.

Trash sat curled up on a hard metal bench tucked into a corner, her knees drawn tight to her chest and her bag clutched like it held her entire life. In a way, it did. The crumpled envelope of paper money. The last two meal bars. Her spare items and the bottles of Bloodleaf. Every bit of survival she had left was zipped up under her arms.

She checked the overhead display again, squinting at the shifting lights of arrival and departure times, trying to mimic the people around her. She couldn't read the words, not really, but the symbols were starting to look familiar. The number 2. The letters she thought might be K and S. The same ones the lady at the ticket counter had pointed to when she said the bus would leave in "two hours."

Trash shifted on the bench, wincing at the soreness in her shoulder, her back aching from the jagged cuts that had scabbed into tight, hot lines. She still felt raw, skin pulled tight and breath thin. The pain reminded her she was still alive. Still free. Still moving.

She sniffed the air again discreetly, practised. No wolves. Not close, anyway.

Her wolf was silent but alert, curled deep inside, listening with her. Ready.

Trash lay down slowly on the bench, turning her face toward the wall and curling her body around the bag. She looked like a shadow with a heartbeat. Every sound, the crinkling of paper bags, the squeak of shoes, the rolling of suitcases, made her flinch. But no one paid her any attention. No one saw her as a threat. No one saw her at all.

She whispered to herself under her breath, lips barely moving. “Two hours. Then gone. Far far away.” The words were a promise.

She pulled her hoodie tighter over her head and closed her eyes, one arm over her stomach, the other curled tightly around the bag’s strap. The floor beneath her was rough, the bench unkind. But she didn't care. She was closer than she’d ever been.

She could feel it. She would leave this place. She would be gone soon. She just had to hold on a little longer.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but exhaustion had crept up like a tide, lulling her with the faint lullaby of wheels rolling on concrete and distant voices over a crackling intercom. She had slept in worse places. The bench was just another place to survive.

Her arms were locked tight around the bag when it happened.

A tug.

Then another.

Something snatched at the strap with a sharp, jarring pull.

Her eyes flew open, breath catching in her throat. She bolted upright just in time to see a man, mid-twenties, hoodie drawn low over his brow, reeking of stale cigarettes and adrenaline, trying to wrest the bag from her grip.

“No!” she shouted, hoarse and guttural.

He yanked again. Her wolf slammed into the surface of her skin.

With a snarl, Trash held tighter, muscles burning as she twisted her body, teeth bared. Her eyes flared gold, a sudden, bright flash in the dim lighting. The man froze. Just for a second. Then she snarled again, the sound feral and deep, not human at all.

His eyes widened, body jerking back. “What the hell—?” he muttered, voice trembling.

She lunged forward, not to strike, but enough to send a clear message.

He dropped the strap and bolted across the station, disappearing into the cluster of vending machines and stairwells without looking back.

Trash sat frozen, panting hard, her hands trembling around the bag now clutched tight against her chest.

She could still feel her wolf just behind her skin, waiting. Watching.

People looked her way but didn’t come near. Just another unstable runaway, they’d think. Another wild-eyed girl guarding a dirty bag like it were treasure.

She shrank against the bench, heart racing. Sleep was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not now.

She curled into herself, gripping the bag even tighter, knees drawn to her chest, her eyes wide and glassy.

The fear wasn’t of that man. Not really.

The fear was that if she slept again, someone else might come.

And this time, she might not be fast enough.

She stayed awake. Two more hours. She could do it.

She had to.

The sound of the bus arriving jolted her like a strike of lightning.

The low, mechanical rumble grew louder, headlights slicing through the dim atmosphere of the station as the massive vehicle pulled into the bay. Brakes hissed and groaned. Trash sat up quickly, blinking hard, her body aching from lying curled on the hard bench. Her bag was still tight in her grasp, her arms sore from the tension.

She rose unsteadily to her feet, her limbs stiff and bloodless, but her determination sharp as broken glass.

People began to shuffle forward. She joined the quiet line, keeping her head low, hoodie still up. Her eyes flitted across the parking lot, across faces. Still no wolves.

Safe for now.

She stepped up to the driver, handing over the ticket the kind woman had gotten her. He didn’t say much, just nodded and let her board. She didn’t care. Kindness made her flinch more than silence.

She climbed the narrow steps and walked down the aisle, scanning faces, checking scents. Humans.

Relief washed through her, shaky and untrusting. Still, she moved to the back and took a window seat again, crouched down slightly so she wouldn’t be visible. Her bag stayed in her lap, her body curled protectively around it like a mother shielding a child.

The engine revved. The bus jerked forward.

Trash swallowed hard and turned her head toward the window, watching the city begin to slip past. The lights, the buildings, the endless motion, it was everything she didn’t understand. But it was also freedom.

As the station disappeared behind her, a lump rose in her throat. She gripped the seat in front of her with one hand, her knuckles white.

She had done it.

She was leaving.

She didn’t know where this bus would really take her, or what she would find there. But it wasn’t the basement. It wasn’t the pack. It wasn’t him.

It was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

She leaned her forehead against the cold window and whispered, “Keep going…”

The city lights flickered like stars fallen to earth, and Trash watched them blur past the window as the bus rolled on, steady and sure.

The further they drove, the more real it felt.

She was leaving. She had escaped.

Her fingers slowly relaxed from the death grip on her bag. Her shoulders lowered, inch by inch, like they were remembering they weren’t meant to be locked in fear.

The man at the airport startled when she said her name.

She needed a name, a real one.

Trash bit her lip, turning the word over in her head. It didn’t feel like it belonged to her anymore. Maybe it never did.

She glanced at the dark window, catching the reflection of her battered face. It was bruised, swollen… but it was hers. And for the first time, she could almost imagine it looking different.

Cleaner. Freer. Smiling, even.

She closed her eyes and tried whispering a name in her head.

"Maya."

It sounded soft. Like a girl who liked flowers. Someone who wore bright scarves and smiled at people without flinching.

"Emma."

Short. Sweet. Maybe she worked at a bakery. Or maybe she read books in coffee shops with whipped cream on top of her drinks.

She giggled, the sound surprising her. It escaped before she could stop it, a real laugh, quick and light.

Startled, she clapped a hand over her mouth and glanced around. No one noticed. No one cared. She wasn’t about to be punished for it.

Tears pricked her eyes, not from fear this time, but something gentler. Sadder. Happier.

She looked back out the window and kept trying names in her head.

"Elena."
"Bree."
"Zara."

Each one carried a different story. A different girl. And each time she whispered one silently to herself, she practised saying it out loud in her mind, “Hi, I’m Zara. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi, I’m Bree.”

She smiled again. A real one this time. It was small, trembling, but it bloomed.

She didn’t know who she’d be yet.

But she was going to find out.

Somewhere down the road. Somewhere far from cages and jugs and punishments. Somewhere wolves didn’t rule, and the words ‘Alpha, Beta and Omega’ didn’t have any meaning. She was just a girl living, not trash, not subhuman, and not filth.

Her future wasn’t written in the basement anymore. It was still blank. And she could write it however she wanted.

She rested her head back against the seat, her eyes fluttering closed. Just a little rest. Just until the next stop.

Her lips moved faintly as she whispered one more name.

"Hope." And then she smiled again because maybe, just maybe, that one wasn’t a name.

Maybe it was who she was becoming.