The hotel clock ticked softly against the wall.
6:02 AM, Monday.
Joe sat slouched into the leather sofa, his body sunk deep into it like gravity had decided to weigh more on him than anything else in the room. The cushions had long since molded to his shape, creased and worn from hours of him not moving, not resting, just… existing.
An empty coffee cup sat in front of him.
Another rested beside it, half-finished, the surface of the liquid cold now, untouched for longer than he could remember.
His fingers hovered near it anyway.
Out of habit.
Out of desperation.
It's not even doing anything anymore.
His eyes burned.
Not the sharp sting of something fresh, but a dull, constant ache, like sandpaper dragged across the inside of his skull. His vision blurred at the edges every time he blinked, heavy lids threatening to shut completely if he let them linger too long.
Don't fall asleep.
He couldn't afford to and wouldn't. Not here, not now.
The lobby stretched out before him in quiet early-morning stillness. A three-star hotel trying its best to feel like something more, polished floors reflecting the dim golden lights overhead, the scent of cheap air freshener barely masking the lingering traces of last night's foot traffic.
A receptionist stood behind the desk, posture straight but eyes tired, tapping quietly on a keyboard. Every now and then, she'd stifle a yawn, glancing toward the glass doors like she was waiting for her shift to end.
A cleaning cart sat parked near the hallway entrance, unattended for the moment, a faint trail of disinfectant lingering in the air.
Somewhere deeper in the building, a vacuum hummed briefly, then cut off.
Muted and distant like everything else.
Near the far end of the lounge, an older man in a wrinkled suit dozed off in a chair, chin resting against his chest, a newspaper slipping slowly from his grasp. A young couple sat near the windows, whispering to each other over untouched cups of coffee, their conversation low and private, like the world outside didn't exist.
Normal people. A normal morning.
Joe exhaled slowly.
Normal…
The word felt foreign.
Outside the glass doors, the city was waking up.
Soft orange light bled across the horizon, creeping between buildings, reflecting off windows, stretching long shadows across empty streets. A few cars passed by, their engines low and steady. Somewhere, a distant horn echoed faintly.
Life moving on.
Like nothing had happened.
Like last night didn't exist.
His jaw tightened.
The memory clawed its way back anyway.
Blood and claws. The sound of something not human tearing through his home.
Focus.
He ran a rough hand down his face, trying to ground himself. After the attack, it was all a haze—sirens wailing in the distance, red and blue lights flashing across shattered walls, officers asking questions he could barely process.
Cleanup crews moved in with the ease of people who'd done it too many times before, like this was just another day. They'd told them it was better to stick together, that there was safety in numbers, and for now, that was all they could hold on to.
The station had been an option, but the thought of Sydney and Melanie sleeping under fluorescent lights, surrounded by holding cells and the lingering smell of stale air…
No.
They arrived at a hotel, seeking temporary refuge. Officers stood guard outside while patrols kept watch through the night, all creating an illusion of control.
The sheriff had called, offering a quick apology and saying he was relieved Joe and his family were safe. It all felt too smooth, too quick, like the words had been rehearsed.
Joe played along, at least on the surface, but deep down something about it gnawed at him, twisting in his gut and leaving him uneasy. Then the sheriff mentioned getting together, going over the leads Joe had, talking about the evidence. That only made the feeling stronger.
'Because it might shed light on what's happening.' He had said.
Joe had agreed.
Because not agreeing would raise questions.
But trust?
Not even close.
The patrols had ended a few hours back, just a routine shift change, or so they claimed.
Joe wasn't buying it, didn't trust the calm. So he stayed put, right where he was, eyes scanning, ears straining for anything out of place. One cup of coffee turned into another, then another, each gulp keeping him on edge and pushing his body far past its natural limits, his mind locked on the silence that felt just a little too deliberate.
Just a few more hours.
His eyes drifted back toward the rising sun.
The light had grown stronger now, pushing the darkness back, filling the lobby with a soft glow.
Morning means safe… right?
His shoulders sagged slightly.
For the first time all night, the tension in his chest eased. just a little.
They're probably fine now.
His thoughts slowed. Heavier and more scattered.
Maybe I can get an hour… just one hour…
But then—
Mayor Farren.
The name jolted through his thoughts like a wire stretched to the breaking point. The folder. The proof. Everything he had been working toward.
Do I go today?
His fingers tapped lightly against his knee.
If I go… I'm leaving them exposed.
His jaw clenched.
If I don't… I lose time.
Time he might not have.
Time that might cost more lives.
What's the move?
His thoughts spiraled.
Keep them safe!
That's the priority.
Always.
But how?
A hotel wasn't permanent.
Police presence wasn't guaranteed.
There's no foolproof way.
The realization sat heavy and deeply cold.
No matter what I do… they're still targets.
The elevator dinged. Soft and unassuming.
Joe barely registered it at first.
The doors slid open across the lobby.
A woman stepped out.
Followed by a small figure beside her.
Luggage in hand.
Joe blinked.
Once.
Then twice.
…No.
The fog in his brain shattered instantly.
Adrenaline surged, burning away the exhaustion in a heartbeat.
He shot to his feet so fast the chair creaked behind him.
"Sydney?"
The name left his mouth before he could stop it.
She froze. Just for a second, then turned.
Melanie stood beside her, small hands gripping the handle of a rolling suitcase, eyes red, puffy.
Crying.
Or had been.
Joe's chest tightened.
"What are you doing?" he asked, already moving toward them, his voice low but urgent. "Where are you going?"
Sydney didn't answer immediately. Her grip tightened on her bag.
Her face… tired.
But not in the same way as him.
Not from lack of sleep but from something deeper and heavier.
"I'm done, Joe."
The words landed flat and final.
He stopped a few steps away.
"…What?"
"I'm tired," she continued, her voice steady but strained at the edges. "I'm tired of the lies. The secrets. And now—"
Her eyes flicked toward Melanie.
"Now you've put her in danger."
Joe shook his head immediately.
"No, that's not—"
"We're leaving."
The sentence cut clean.
Sharp.
Joe stepped forward, panic creeping into his voice.
"Sydney, I've never lied to you."
Sydney let out a short, humorless breath. "Joe—"
"When there were things I couldn't tell you," he pushed, voice tightening, "it's because I didn't want you carrying this. I didn't want that weight on you. I'm trying to protect you. Can't you see that?"
Sydney's expression didn't change. Not even a little.
"I can't do this anymore."
The words came softer this time.
But they hit harder.
"I gave you chances," she continued. "You don't get to act like this came out of nowhere. Last night…"
Her voice faltered briefly.
"…that was it."
Joe stared at her.
No, this can't be happening.
"Where are you even going?" he asked quickly, grasping for something practical, something he could fix. "It's not safe out there."
"We're going to my mom's."
He paused, thinking it over. The next state wasn't far, but still, there was distance.
That would be safer.
"…Okay," he said, nodding slightly, trying to hold onto that thread. "Okay, that's good. You can stay there for a bit, and when this is over—"
"Joe."
He stopped.
Sydney sighed.
A tired, broken sound.
"That's not what I meant."
The world seemed to tilt slightly.
"I'm done," she said, quieter now. "I can't be with you anymore."
The silence was thick, heavy. Joe just stared at her, as if his brain couldn't quite process the words.
"…What?"
Sydney looked away. "I've been meeting with an attorney."
The words felt unreal.
"...I'm filing for divorce."
Something inside him cracked.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… a quiet fracture spreading through everything.
"You're—" he stopped, breath catching. "After everything we've been through?"
Sydney's head snapped back toward him.
"Through what, Joe?" she shot back, her voice rising despite herself. "What have we been through?"
A few heads in the lobby turned.
The receptionist glanced up.
Melanie flinched.
Sydney took a shaky breath.
"It's been me and her," she continued, gesturing to Melanie. "Always. When we needed you, you weren't there. It was always work. Always something else."
Joe's jaw tightened.
"Why do you think I've been so busy?" he fired back, voice low but intense. "Everything I do is for you. For her. I'm trying to make the world safer for you two."
"How would I even know that?" Sydney snapped. "You don't tell me anything."
"Because I love you," he said.
The words came out raw. Honest and desperate.
Sydney's expression softened.
For a second.
Then hardened again.
"You never showed it." A pause. "And I'm tired of believing in something I can't see."
A hotel staff member approached carefully, polite but firm.
"Sir, ma'am… we do have a policy regarding disturbances."
Joe exhaled sharply, stepping back slightly.
"…Sorry."
Sydney nodded faintly.
Silence settled between them again.
This time colder.
More final.
She adjusted her grip on the luggage.
"Do yourself a favor," she said quietly. "If you really love us… let us go."
Joe's chest tightened.
"You'll only be distracted," she added. "And at least this way… we won't keep waiting for someone who never comes home."
Her voice cracked slightly.
But she didn't stop.
"This isn't up for debate."
Joe opened his mouth. Then...
Closed it.
His eyes drifted down.
Melanie.
She stood there, small, quiet.
Tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
Not loud nor dramatic.
Just… there.
Existing and hurting. His chest ached.
…I'm losing them.
He swallowed hard.
Then nodded slowly.
"…At least let me drive you."
---
The bus station smelled like fuel and dust.
Morning traffic had picked up, people moving in small clusters, luggage rolling across concrete, voices blending into a low, constant hum.
The bus idled nearby.
Engine running, almost ready to leave.
Joe set the last bag down beside Sydney.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly. "I can keep you safe."
Sydney didn't respond.
"I can visit," he added. "Once this is over."
"I'd rather you didn't."
The words were gentle but firm.
Joe nodded slowly. "…I'll still come. For her."
Sydney stayed silent, her eyes dropping to the floor, guilt flickering across her face. The pause between them stretched on, growing longer with each second
Long, awkward, and painfully heavy.
"…You should go," Joe said finally.
Sydney nodded.
She took Melanie's hand and turned.
"Hey," Joe called softly.
They paused.
"We'll talk soon… okay?"
Sydney didn't answer.
Not really.
Just a small nod that didn't promise anything.
They boarded.
Joe crouched down as Melanie passed him, pulling her into a tight hug.
"I'll come get you," he whispered. "I promise."
She hugged him back.
But it felt…
Off.
Light.
Like she wasn't fully there.
Like she knew something he didn't.
He pulled back, searching her face. But she just looked away.
The doors closed before the bus pulled off.
Joe remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed and unblinking as he watched until the bus vanished from sight. In the moments that followed, he made no attempt to move, his body frozen as if held by an unseen force.
His mind was blank, devoid of thought, and even the simple act of drawing a breath seemed forgotten. He stood there in utter stillness, a hollow presence, stripped of all feeling and awareness.
Like something essential had been taken from him.
And nothing had been left behind.