The streets at night were a different kind of cold.
Not just the kind that clawed at your skin — but the kind that slid into your bones, slow and silent, like it wanted to live there. Ava wrapped her arms tighter around Tess, who was practically buried beneath the oversized hoodie and her backpack. They huddled in the corner of a bus station, tucked behind one of the old benches where the fluorescent lights didn't quite reach.
The buses had stopped running hours ago, and the place was mostly empty now — except for a few others scattered along the walls. People who looked tired, people who had no other place to go. Ava didn't let herself look at them too long. She didn't want to admit they might belong to that world now.
Tess leaned into her side, silent but awake. Her eyes kept flicking toward the glass doors, as if she half-expected Marcus to burst through them.
"He's not coming," Ava murmured. "He was out cold."
Tess didn't respond. She just nodded and clutched Ava's hand tighter.
The ache in Ava's ribs had settled into a dull throb, but her stomach felt worse. She hadn't eaten since early morning, and adrenaline could only last so long. Her throat was dry, and every breath scraped against the back of it.
They hadn't really planned this. It wasn't like they'd made a map, chosen a place to go, figured out how to survive. They'd just run — because staying was no longer an option.
The air smelled faintly of gas fumes and something sour, maybe spilled alcohol or something rotting nearby. Ava tried not to think about it.
She adjusted the backpack under her legs, checking again that the little money she had — coins, mostly, and a few crumpled bills from her emergency stash — was still tucked deep inside. It wouldn't last long. A few bus fares. Maybe food for a day. Not even a motel.
They were in it now.
"Are we gonna sleep here?" Tess asked quietly.
Ava hesitated. "Just for tonight."
She didn't know if it was true. She just needed to give Tess something to hold on to.
They must've looked worse than they realized, because a woman walking by stopped and took a long look at them. She was middle-aged, maybe in her early forties, holding a paper bag from a nearby fast-food place. Ava tensed, immediately wary, but the woman didn't seem dangerous — just hesitant.
"Hey," she said gently, crouching a few feet away. "You girls okay?"
Ava opened her mouth to say We're fine, but her voice stuck. Her stomach growled before she could respond.
The woman pulled two wrapped sandwiches and a bottled water from her bag and set them down beside them. "Here. I know it's not much, but... it's warm."
"We're not beggars," Ava said reflexively, voice sharp and raw.
The woman blinked, surprised — but not offended. "Didn't say you were. Just figured you could use it."
And then she left.
Ava stared at the sandwiches, motionless, throat tight. Tess looked up at her, waiting.
They didn't ask.
They didn't cry.
They just ate.
Because they weren't begging.
But they were starving.
And in this moment, there was no difference.
---
The station quieted more as midnight crept in. Ava's head leaned back against the metal bench, but she couldn't sleep. She was too wired. Too cold. Too aware of every shifting shadow in the room.
That's when she saw him.
A man, maybe in his early thirties, walking slowly through the bus station, his coat damp from the rain and a backpack slung over one shoulder. He glanced around, not in a suspicious way — just observant. Calculated. Like someone who knew how to read a room.
Ava's muscles tensed as he approached them.
"Hey," he said calmly, holding his hands out a little as if to show he had nothing to hide. "I don't mean to bother you. Just wanted to ask — are you two safe?"
Ava's jaw tightened. "We're fine."
"I believe you," he said. "But it's freezing tonight. There's a shelter just a few blocks from here. I volunteer there sometimes. They take minors, especially in emergencies."
Ava narrowed her eyes. "We don't need charity."
"I'm not offering charity," he said. "Just a bed. Some food. Heat."
He paused, looking past her to Tess. "You've got someone to protect. I get it. You don't have to trust me. But it's better than the bus station floor."
Ava was already shaking her head. "We're not going anywhere with a stranger."
The man gave her a soft look, not pitying — just sad. "That's fair. But if you change your mind, it's called St. Gabriel's Shelter. It's three blocks up Pine, then a right on Lowell. Ask for Maria. She'll help you."
He stepped back and gave a small nod before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing.
Ava waited until he was gone, then exhaled slowly.
"You're not seriously considering that, right?" she muttered.
Tess shifted beside her. "Maybe we should."
"No."
"But we don't have anywhere else to go. It's just for tonight. Until we figure out what to do."
Ava looked at her. Tess's face was pale, exhausted, her eyes already red from strain and cold. She was trying to be brave, but she was still a kid.
Ava hated that she was even thinking about it.
But Tess was right.
They had nothing.
And she couldn't keep pretending she had all the answers.
Ava stood up, slung her bag over her shoulder, and reached down for Tess's hand.
"You remember what he said?" she asked quietly.
Tess nodded. "St. Gabriel's."
"Let's go."
---
They walked in silence through the wet streets, Tess clinging to Ava's arm. The buildings blurred past like ghosts — all gray edges and cold brick. The city didn't care who they were. Didn't care what they were running from.
When they finally reached the shelter, a weathered sign with faded blue letters greeted them. St. Gabriel's Shelter for Women & Youth.
Ava hesitated at the door.
Inside, lights glowed dimly. Voices murmured. The smell of coffee and old blankets leaked through the cracks in the wall.
Tess looked up at her.
"You ready?" she asked.
Ava wasn't. Not really.
But she squeezed Tess's hand, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.