Evan pulled on the flannel shirt—it was too small, tight across his shoulders, but it was warm and dry. He found pants in the trunk too, old denim that fit well enough. There were boots, but they were too small, so he'd have to make do with his own despite the fact that they were still damp.
Anaya emerged from behind a crate wearing the boy's clothes she'd found. The pants were too long, pooling around her feet, and the shirt hung off one shoulder, but she looked warmer at least. And she was grinning.
"I look funny," she announced.
"You look fine, kid."
"The pants are too big. I keep stepping on them."
"We'll roll them up." Evan knelt and did just that, cuffing the pants so they wouldn't trip her.
"I love you Papa!" She chirped.
"Yeah." He tried to brush it off with a laugh, but his voice came out rougher than intended. Then he said, "I carry you with me always."
"What's this?" Anaya frowned, confused.
"My style of saying that back, kid." Evan almost laughed at the look on her face—somewhere between touched and bewildered.
Then he looked at her ears—those distinctive pointed ears that marked her as other, as not-human.
They were a problem. A big problem. If they were going to go anywhere near civilization, near people, Anaya's ears would give her away immediately.
"We need to do something about your ears, baby."
Anaya looked up from the pants she was examining. "What's wrong with my ears?"
"Nothing's wrong with them. They're perfect. But they're also..." Evan gestured to the distinctive pointed tips. "They're very obviously elf ears. And we're still in human territory."
They were in the wilderness, avoiding towns and main roads yet. But eventually, they'd need to pass through populated areas. To get supplies. To reach the barrier.
And a small elf girl with pointed ears would be noticed immediately.
Anaya touched her ears self-consciously. "Are they bad?"
"No! No, sweetheart. Your ears are beautiful. But right now, they're dangerous. If people see them, they'll know what you are. And they'll try to take you away from me." He tried to apply that trick which always works on children. Wait! When had he started to know about children?
Anaya's eyes went wide. "I don't want to be taken away!"
"Then we need to hide them. Just for a little while."
He pulled out a knitted cap he'd found in the cabin—soft, gray, warm.
"Here. Try this on."
Anaya took the cap, examining it curiously. "What is it?"
"It's a hat. You wear it on your head."
"I know what a hat IS, Papa." She giggled. "I'm not a baby."
"Could've fooled me with all that shirt dragging. And especially in this kind of situation. Where no one knows if you're a person or a very short ghost."
"Hey!"
But she was smiling as she pulled the cap on. And Evan was smiling too. Something about making her laugh felt like winning.
The hat was too big, sliding down over her eyes.
"I can't see!"
Evan adjusted it, folding up the bottom, tucking her ears carefully underneath.
"There. How's that?"
Anaya reached up, feeling the cap. "Itchy."
"I know. But it hides your ears perfectly. And your hair."
Anaya's hair was long—past her shoulders, golden and shining. Very obviously not human in its texture, the way it caught the light.
"No one will know you're an elf. You'll just look like a regular little girl."
"But I AM an elf."
"I know, little light. And that's wonderful. But right now, we need people to think you're human. Just until we get you home. Okay?"
Anaya nodded seriously. "Okay, Papa. I can pretend."
"That's my girl."
Now came the hard part. Evan moved to the doorway, scanning the forest. The sun was higher now, mid-morning maybe. He could still hear helicopters in the distance, the steady thump of rotors as search parties combed the area. They'd been lucky last night, but luck didn't last forever.
"Anaya," he said. "I need you to think really hard. When you crossed the barrier—before you got lost—do you remember anything about where you were going? Any landmarks, any direction?"
She came to stand beside him, looking out at the trees. Her small face scrunched up in concentration. "I... I remember there was a big road. With the fast metal things—cars. And there was a sign with pictures but I couldn't read the words."
"A highway sign?"
"Maybe? It was tall. On metal legs. And there were buildings behind it. Big buildings."
A town. She'd seen a town before the barrier coordinates shifted and locked her out. But which direction? Which town?
"Do you remember which way you went from there? Toward the sunrise or away from it?"
Anaya's face fell. "I don't remember. I was running and everything looked the same and I was so hungry and scared and—" Her voice broke. "I'm sorry, Papa. I don't remember."
"Hey, it's okay." Evan knelt down, pulling her into a hug. "You did great. You are a brave girl. You gave me something to work with."
But inside, he was calculating. They were somewhere in the forest bordering the compound. The compound was in a rural area, deliberately isolated, but there were towns within twenty or thirty miles. If Anaya had seen highway signs and buildings, she'd probably wandered close to one of the larger ones. Millbrook, maybe, or Riverside.
The problem was getting there. They were on foot, Anaya couldn't walk fast or far, and Morrison would have alerts out to every town within a hundred miles. Cross's face would be all over the news by now—fugitive, traitor, kidnapper.
But they needed supplies. Needed food, warmer clothes, maybe a vehicle if he could figure out how to steal one. And they needed information—where to go next, how to disappear.
"We're going to head toward the nearest town," Evan decided. "Stay in the forest as much as possible, but get close enough to... to figure things out."
"Are we going to see people?" Anaya asked, her hand instinctively going to her cap.
"Maybe. Probably. But you keep that hat on and stay close to me, understand?"
"Understand."
Evan gathered what they could carry from the cabin—a wool blanket that he fashioned into a makeshift pack, a few cans of food that might still be edible, a rusty knife that was better than nothing. The rest they'd have to leave.
They were about to head out when Anaya tugged on his shirt. "Papa? Thank you."
"For what?"
"For keeping your promise. For getting me away from the scary place." She looked up at him with those amber eyes full of trust and something that looked like love. "Mama always said you were brave. Now I know she was right."
Evan's throat tightened. This kid—this incredible, magical, trusting kid—had no idea that her real father was probably dead, that Evan was just some random human who happened to look enough like him to trigger her abilities. She deserved to know the truth.
But not yet. Not when the truth might break something fragile and precious inside her.
"Come on," he said instead. "Let's go find somewhere safe."
They stepped out of the cabin into the cold morning, fugitives from everything, heading toward an uncertain future with nothing but each other and a desperate hope that somewhere, somehow, they'd find sanctuary.
Behind them, the distant sound of helicopters continued their relentless search.
But ahead—ahead was possibility. Freedom. A chance.
It would have to be enough.
Evan adjusted Anaya's cap one more time, making sure her ears were completely covered, and then they disappeared into the forest, two figures moving through the trees—a man who'd betrayed everything he'd ever known, and a child who looked remarkably human in her too-big clothes and itchy gray hat.
Just a father and daughter on a morning walk.
If you didn't look too closely.
If you didn't know what they were running from.
If you didn't see the fear and determination in their eyes as they headed toward a town full of people who would see them as enemies, criminals, monsters.
But Evan kept walking anyway, Anaya's small hand in his, because turning back wasn't an option.
They could only go forward now.
Into whatever came next.
Anaya was chattering nonstop. About Mama. About home. About the cookies she'd help make once. About how fireflies tasted (she'd tried one once by accident and it was "crunchy and bad"). Evan didn't want to admit it, but the constant stream of five-year-old commentary made the journey feel less terrifying. Almost normal.
It was evening. They were hiding in a cave. Which was not better than that room where they'd lived in the compound, but it was shelter. Better than outside. Anaya was humming some elvish tune, off-key but sweet. And Evan was thinking about their next move when the question came.
"Papa?"
It was unexpected.
"Yeah?"
"Do you have a home?" Anaya asked out of pure curiosity. Evan wasn't ready for this. He gathered himself.
"I don't think so." He tried to shrug it off.
"Then who are you remembering. Is it Helena?" Now Anaya was grinning.
"What? How?" Evan wasn't sure what to say. "How do you know about her?"
"Because your heart says your home is there. And also you whispered the name in your sleep.Now tell me who is Helena?" Anaya was watching him with those too-large eyes that were full of love and placed a hand on his chest.
"She is my mother." Evan wasn't sure whether to tell her, but he couldn't hide it anymore.
"Wait! I have a grandma! This is. This is cool!" She was excited now. "So let's go there."
"Kid, I don't think we can go there."
"Why not?" Anaya's face fell.
"Because I. Because she'll be angry with me." Evan didn't know why he said that. "Because I broke my promise."
"What promise?" Anaya was frowning.
"To be a good person."
"But you ARE good."
"You really think so?"
Anaya yawned and snuggled close to him, her small body fitting perfectly against his side. Evan's arm came around her automatically, protective.
"Papa. Should I tell you a secret?" She whispered.
"Yeah, sure. I can keep secrets." He whispered back.
She giggled then said, "Mamas can't be angry with their children for long. You just have to say 'Sorry Mamaaaa!' That's it."
Evan was smiling now. "Thank you, Anaya. I'll try."
"Then best of luck, Papa." Her voice was low now, sleepy. "Tell me a story, Papa."
"What?"
"Tell me a story. Like you do before bed in that scary place. Maybe it'll help you not think about being sad."
Evan almost laughed. This five-year-old, trying to distract him from his own mess.
"Okay. Once upon a time... there was a rabbit who thought he was a dragon..."
"A rabbit?" Anaya perked up slightly.
"Yeah. He had these tiny ears but he thought they were horns. And he'd hop around trying to breathe fire, but all that came out were little puffs of air that smelled like carrots."
Anaya giggled. "That's silly, Papa."
"I'm not done. So the rabbit—his name was Gerald—"
"Gerald?" She was fully laughing now. "That's a terrible name for a rabbit!"
"Gerald is a GREAT name. Anyway, Gerald decided to fight a real dragon to prove he was tough. But when he got there, the dragon was just eating soup and feeling sad because nobody wanted to be his friend."
"Why not?"
"Because he was a dragon. Everyone was scared. So Gerald—even though he was tiny—said 'I'll be your friend.' And the dragon was so happy he cried. And his tears put out a forest fire that was happening nearby. The end."
Anaya was quiet for a moment. Then: "Papa, that's the worst story I've ever heard."
"Hey!"
"The rabbit should've been named something cool like Thunderfoot. And why was the dragon eating soup? Dragons eat knights and treasure!"
"Dragons can like soup. Don't be judgmental."
She was giggling into his shirt now. "Your stories are so bad, Papa. But I love them."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Because they make me laugh. And..." She yawned again. "And they make you sound happy. I like when you sound happy."
Evan's chest tightened. This kid.
"Go to sleep, little light," he said softly. "Tomorrow's another big day."
"Will you tell me another bad story tomorrow?"
"The worst one yet. I promise."
"Good." Her breathing was already evening out, her small body relaxing completely against his. "Love you, Papa."
"Yeah, kid. I carry you with me. Always."
She didn't respond. Already asleep.