Chapter 2

I didn’t know how long or how far I ran. I just kept going, from the pitch-black night until the sky turned pale with dawn.

I ended up in a remote, unfamiliar valley town.

The morning air was crisp, and the wild grass at the entrance of the town was damp with dew.

In the distance, I could hear faint voices.

The terror that had briefly subsided came rushing back. I gritted my teeth and forced my tired legs to keep moving.

I stumbled straight into a flock of sheep slowly heading down the dirt road. The sheep panicked, scattering in all directions.

Exhaustion made me lose my head. I was terrified that the noise would attract attention. I was terrified of being caught.

I dodged past the fluffy white bodies, desperate to find a place to hide.

In my blind panic, I crashed headfirst into a boy who was slightly shorter than me.

He lost his footing and tumbled backward, his head striking a jagged old tree stump. Fresh, bright red blood immediately began to seep from his forehead.

"Ouch! Ahhh—"

He burst into tears from the sharp pain.

My heart leaped into my throat. The sound of his crying paralyzed me with fear. What if those bad men heard him?

I didn't even try to help him up. I scrambled to my feet, my only instinct to run away.

But before I could take a step, he grabbed my arm with an iron grip. No matter how hard I thrashed, I couldn’t shake him off.

"Jules! Jules, what happened?!"

An elderly man with thinning white hair rushed over, quickly scooping the crying boy into his arms.

Only then did I snap out of my panic. The voices I had heard earlier belonged to this old man.

I looked at the boy, feeling a pang of guilt. I reached out, wanting to wipe his tears.

He angrily turned his head away, but his small hand still gripped my sleeve tightly.

The old man led him, the boy dragged me, and just like that, I was pulled along to their small ranch house.

Once inside, the old man wrapped the boy’s head in thick gauze until he looked like a little mummy.

Only then did the old man turn his attention to me.

I was a complete mess. Having lived on the streets for so long, I smelled terrible.

My clothes were ripped to shreds by tree branches, my face and body were caked in sweat and dirt, and my bare feet were cut and bleeding.

The boy called the old man "Grandpa." So, I quietly followed suit and called him Grandpa, too.

Grandpa Thomas didn't ask questions right away. He helped me wash up, found some of the boy's oversized clothes for me to wear, and handed me a warm bowl of oatmeal.

Feeling their genuine kindness, I devoured the food like a wild animal.

It had been so long since I sat at a proper table and had a real meal.