My mom's voice is still echoing in my head from the phone call an hour ago. You'll like it there. Fresh start. Give it a chance.

The moving truck is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Tonight I'm supposed to be "settling in" at some rental my mom found online.

The Uber driver hasn't spoken once since picking me up from the bus station.

Through the window, I catch my own reflection—tired eyes, messy hair, the same face I've been avoiding looking at for weeks. Same person. Different town. Different problems.

The car slows.

I grab my bag and step out.

The air smells different here. Pine. Earth. Something metallic underneath that I can't quite place.

The driver pulls away before I even reach the front door.

I'm alone.

The woods around the property are dense. Dark. Quiet.

Too quiet.