Two days later, so early in the morning with the fog still present, the faint sound of Godfrey's white sneakers hitting the smooth concrete floor echoed across the racing tracks of the massive school field.
He jogged in a gray hood and pants, the rhythm of his steps steady, though the sound didn't quite reach his ears, he had bought a pair of earbuds.
White ones!
Previously, he wasn't much of a music fan, but now it felt good, strangely good. As though the lyrics poured strength into him, he felt as if he was floating, his body moving in sync with the rhythm.
Of course, his favorite musician was Shooting Star, Isolde's favorite as well. He panted softly, exhaustion biting at his lungs. Jogging from 3 a.m. until almost five around such a large field was grueling, but he just wanted to push through the remaining three days.
Had Isolde texted him, he would have been calm. But she hadn't. She hadn't even gone online since then. Not knowing anything about her was killing him.
