She stands near the ticket booth, shoulders tense beneath a worn leather jacket. A duffel bag hangs from one hand, the strap digging into her palm. The station clock reads 11:47 PM—late, too late for a girl her age to be alone.

The air smells of diesel and stale espresso. A group of rowdy teenagers pushes by, laughing too loudly. One of them—a boy with a lip ring and a grin that says trouble—catches her eye and slows his pace.