Chapter 3

I left the park and went home.

That evening around eight, while I was helping my mother pack up her steamed bun stall at the night market, my phone started buzzing.

A voice message came through on my messenger from Lauren Finch, the veteran guide who'd trained me. Her voice was rushed.

"Willow, check the local trending topics, right now. Something big just happened."

I opened the local forum in a hurry.

A red "hot" tag sat at the very top of the trending list.

【Arrogant Tour Guide Bullies Elderly Woman, Shoves Her to Injury Then Turns Nasty】

【Tour Guide Deliberately Destroys Hundred-Million-Year-Old Red Rock Formation, Frames Poor Old Woman】

I opened the post. Inside was a carefully edited clip.

It opened straight on Althea sprawled on the ground, mouth full of blood, wailing.

And I was standing right beside her, the whole thing framed so it looked like I was the villain.

The comment section had already collapsed completely.

"This woman is unbelievable. She hurts an old lady and can't even say sorry?"

"Just looking at her face makes me sick. Ban her from the whole industry."

"Oh my God! She actually damaged a red rock formation. Does she even know that a patch that size takes sixty-plus years to recover?"

"Shameless. Ignorant and shameless and doesn't even know it. Did her teachers never cover red rock formations in school? Destroying that, she can rot in a cell."

"Probably a dropout who never finished school. Figures she thinks red rock land is the same as the mud in her own backyard. Ha."

I read through it all, exactly the same as my last life.

Wyatt's methods were still this filthy: use the information gap to strike first, and nail me to the stake as the villain.

But what really turned my stomach was one hot comment that had just been pushed to the top.

"I know this woman. Her name's Willow Swanson, lives on Harmony Lane in the Old Town district, and her mother runs a steamed bun stall at the South Street night market. Sets up every night at six."

Under the comment was a candid shot of my mother, busy at the stall with steam pouring off it.

In the photo her back was bent, and the white at her temples caught the streetlight, painfully bright.

My head went hollow with a ringing sound.

"Willow, honey, what is it? You look awful."

My mother looked at me, worried.

"Mom, stop packing up, we're leaving right now."

My voice shook and I couldn't stop it as I grabbed her.

"Leaving? Going where? I haven't finished cleaning up the stall."

My mother looked lost.

"There's no time to explain, just come with me."

I pulled at her arm, and just as we were leaving,

a few young men came ambling around the corner.

Phones in hand, glancing between the screens and the street around them.

"Hey, is that the bun seller up ahead?"

One of them, bleached hair, called out loudly.

"Yeah, yeah, that's the spot, that's the mother of the piece-of-trash tour guide."

They came bearing down on us.

"Go, now."

I twisted the throttle on the cart hard and we took off.

"Hey, don't run, guilty conscience, huh!"

Seeing me take off, they lost it and kicked over the folding table we hadn't gotten to clear away yet.

The crash of breaking bowls and chopsticks rang sharp through the night air.

My mother had gone white with fear.

"Willow, what on earth is going on? Why are those people smashing our stall?"

The tears spilled out before I could stop them.

"Mom, I'm sorry. This is my fault, I dragged you into it."

I drove the cart to a small motel on the edge of town, got a room, and settled my mother in.

"Mom, whatever you do, don't go outside these next couple of days. Don't open the door for anyone, no matter who knocks."

I told her again and again, and only when she nodded did I let out a small breath.

I pulled out my phone. On the screen, texts from a swarm of unknown numbers stared back at me.

"You can run today, but you can't run forever!"

"Die, you bitch!"

"What are people like you even still doing alive in this world?"

I gripped the phone tight, realizing that this time the online mob was even worse than the last.

Then I made a call.

"Hey, Trevor, yeah, can I ask you something? Did the manager go into the surveillance room today and delete any footage?"