OMEGA

I was running away. Not in the metaphorical sense—the literal one. My old Honda Civic sped down the highway, its engine groaning like it shared my exhaustion. Each mile put more distance between me and the life I’d left behind. The city that once felt like a bustling maze of possibilities had become a gilded cage. My ex-husband, Daniel, held the keys, and every turn was a dead end. Now, with nothing but the clothes in my suitcase and a half-tank of gas, I was finally breaking free.

It wasn’t just Daniel I was escaping. It was the crushing indifference of my family, the pitying stares of so-called friends who thought I should be grateful. “He has money,” they’d say. “Why can’t you just be happy?” Happy. Like I could be happy with the bruises that lingered long after his apologies, or the cutting words that made me shrink until I barely recognized myself.

The low-fuel warning chimed, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the dashboard clock: 10:17 PM. The highway stretched endlessly ahead, flanked by shadowy trees that seemed to close in the farther I drove. A green sign loomed in the headlights: “Willowridge, 3 Miles.”

Willowridge wasn’t part of my plan. Not that I had much of one. My original idea was to keep driving until I found somewhere to stop—somewhere no one would think to look for me. A place where the ghost of Daniel’s anger couldn’t reach me. Maybe Willowridge could be that place.

I pulled into town on fumes. The main street was quiet, bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. Quaint storefronts with faded signs lined the road: a diner, a hardware store, a flower shop. It looked like something out of a postcard, the kind of town where everyone knew everyone. Perfectly ordinary, perfectly unassuming. But as I coasted down the street, something about the town felt different—like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

I parked outside the diner and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. My hands were shaking. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the gnawing hunger in my stomach was making it hard to think straight. With a deep breath, I stepped out into the cool night air, pulling my coat tighter around me. The bell above the diner door jingled as I walked in.

Inside, it was warm and inviting, with red vinyl booths and a counter lined with stools. A waitress—middle-aged, with a kind face and tired eyes—looked up from behind the counter. “Sit anywhere you like, hon,” she said, her voice carrying a slight Southern drawl.

I chose a booth near the window, where I could keep an eye on my car. She came over with a menu and a pot of coffee, pouring me a cup before I even asked. “You look like you could use this,” she said with a knowing smile.

“Thank you,” I murmured, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. The heat seeped into my fingers, grounding me.

“Passing through?” she asked, scribbling something on her notepad.

“I…” I hesitated. “I’m not sure yet.”

She nodded, like she understood more than I was saying. “Well, take your time. We don’t get a lot of newcomers, but it’s a nice town. People look out for each other.”

I ordered a burger and fries, the kind of comfort food I hadn’t let myself enjoy in years. As I ate, I felt the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder. I wasn’t walking on eggshells. I was just…existing.

But that sense of calm didn’t last long.

The bell above the door jingled again, and a group of people walked in. Four men, all striking in a way that made the small diner seem even smaller. They moved with an easy confidence, like they owned the place—or could, if they wanted to. The tallest of the men had a sharp jawline and piercing eyes that seemed to scan the room with predatory precision. His gaze landed on me, and I froze.

It wasn’t fear, exactly, but something about him made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. His lips curved into a faint smile, and he said something to the others before they slid into a booth across the room. I tried to focus on my food, but I could feel their presence, an undercurrent of energy that set my nerves on edge.

The waitress—her name tag read “Linda”—seemed unfazed as she took their orders, chatting with them like they were regulars. But I noticed the way her hands trembled slightly when she set down their drinks. She caught my eye as she walked past my booth and gave me a tight smile, almost like a warning.

I finished my meal quickly, leaving cash on the table before heading back to my car. As I stepped outside, the cool air hit me like a slap, clearing my head. I’d barely taken two steps when I heard the door open behind me.

“Hey.”

I turned to see the tall man from the group standing on the diner’s porch, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. Up close, his eyes were even more intense, a deep amber that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.

“You new in town?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

“Just passing through,” I said repeating myself from earlier but this time my voice was firmer than I felt.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was some sort of puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. . “Well, welcome to Willowridge. Name’s Jace.”

“Anna,” I said reluctantly.

He smiled again, a flash of teeth that sent a shiver down my spine. “Hope you stick around, Anna. This town’s got a way of growing on people.”

I didn’t respond, just nodded and climbed into my car. As I drove away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Jace was still standing there, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

Something told me Willowridge was going to be anything but ordinary.