The town of Riverside looked like something from a storybook. Small houses with colorful doors. Shops lined up on Main Street. People walking around doing normal, boring, everyday stuff.
Evan and Anaya had been walking for three hours. His legs hurt. His back hurt. Everything hurt. And judging by the way Anaya was dragging her feet, she felt the same.
They crouched behind some bushes at the edge of town, watching.
"Papa, my tummy hurts," Anaya whispered, touching her stomach. "It's making angry noises."
And at the same point, Evan's stomach growled so loudly a nearby bird flew away in alarm.
Anaya giggled despite her misery. "Your tummy is SO loud!"
"Yeah, well, turns out running for your life burns calories. Who knew?" Evan patted his pockets, even though he already knew what he'd find. "We have exactly zero dollars."
"What's a dollar?"
"It's what humans use to buy food instead of just, you know, sharing like reasonable beings."
"Oh." Anaya thought about this, her small face scrunched up under the gray cap. "Can we ask someone nicely for food? Mama says if you ask nicely, most people share."
"Yeah, that works great there. Here? Not so much. They'll either call the cops or try to sell us something." Evan ran a hand through his hair. "But we'll figure something out. First, we need to look like we belong here. Like we're normal."
"Normal how?"
"Like a regular dad and his regular kid who definitely didn't just escape from a secret military facility." Evan adjusted her cap, making sure it covered her pointed ears completely. The cap also hid most of her beautiful golden hair, which was good. "Okay, remember what we practiced?"
"My name is Anna Miller," Anaya recited dutifully.
"Good."
"And you're John Miller."
"Perfect."
"And I'm a human girl, not an elf, and I have to keep my hat on even though it's very, very itchy and I don't like it and my ears feel squished."
"Exactly. And if anyone asks questions—"
"You do the talking!" Anaya finished proudly. "Because I'm five and five-year-olds say weird things."
"You got it, kid. So let's go be normal." Evan stood up, took her hand, and they walked into town trying to look casual.
Trying being the key word.
An old lady watering her flowers waved at them. Evan waved back, his heart pounding. *Act normal. Normal people wave at old ladies. They probably don't think about government conspiracies while doing it. This is fine. Everything is fine.*
They made it to Main Street. There were more people here—coming in and out of shops, talking, laughing. Living their lives like they weren't fugitives from the law.
*Must be nice.*
Then they passed a diner.
The smell hit them both at the same time. Eggs. Toast. Coffee. Something that smelled like heaven and happiness .
Anaya stopped walking dead in her tracks. "Papa. Papa, what IS that smell?"
"Food, kid. The kind that costs money we don't have."
"I want it. I want it so much." She stared through the diner window like someone had shown her the secrets of the universe. "Please? Can we have the food?"
"What part of 'zero dollars' was unclear?"
"But Papa—"
"But nothing. We're broke. Broker than broke. We're so broke, broke people feel rich around us." Evan spotted something down the street. A store with a bulletin board visible through the window. "But I might be able to fix that. Come on."
They walked into the general store. A bell dinged cheerfully, which felt overly optimistic given their situation.
A nice-looking woman behind the counter smiled at them. "Morning! Can I help you folks?"
"Just looking around," Evan said, trying to sound casual and not at all like someone whose face might be on the news. "We're new here."
"Oh! Welcome to Riverside!" The woman beamed like she'd personally discovered them. "Let me know if you need anything."
*Yeah, like fake IDs and a one-way ticket to any country,* Evan thought, but he just smiled and steered Anaya toward the bulletin board in the back.
There were lots of papers pinned up—yard sales, lost cats, babysitting ads that made Evan question himself. Then he saw it:
"HELP WANTED: Odd jobs. Cash paid daily. See Henry at 247 Maple Street."
Cash. Daily. Beautiful words.
"Okay," Evan said quietly to Anaya. "I'm going to find work so we can get money for food—"
"Papa," Anaya interrupted, tugging on his sleeve with surprising urgency. "Papa, I really need food. My tummy is so empty it feels like it disappeared."
"I know, kid. Soon."
"But Papa—" She looked up at him with those big amber eyes that were visible under the shadow of her cap. "It hurts. Like my tummy is eating itself."
Evan's heart squeezed. She was five. She'd been running and hiding and scared for days. She'd healed his wound with her magic, which probably took energy she didn't have. And now she was starving.
*Great parenting, Cross. Father of the Year right here.*
They passed by some shelves. Anaya stopped, staring at something with the intensity of a cat spotting a laser pointer. Evan looked—it was a basket of apples. Red, shiny apples that probably cost a dollar each or something ridiculous.
Anaya reached for one.
"Kid, no—" Evan started.
But Anaya had already picked up the apple. She held it with both small hands like it was a precious gem, staring at it with wonder. Then she looked up at Evan, and her bottom lip trembled.
Oh no.
"Papa, I'm so hungry. Please? Just one?"
"We can't just take it. That's called stealing. Humans frown on that. They have whole buildings dedicated to people who do that."
"But you said we don't have dollars." A tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a track on her dirt-smudged face. "And my tummy hurts so much."
Oh no. No no no. She was crying. In the middle of a store. About an apple. This was bad.
"Sweetie, don't cry—" Evan tried, glancing around nervously.
"I'm trying to be brave like you said but I'm so hungry and everything hurts and I miss Mama and—" Her voice got louder, more tears coming now. "—and my feet are not mine and I just wanted ONE apple!"
People were starting to look. A teenager with headphones took them off. An old man buying soup paused mid-reach. The woman behind the counter was coming over, concerned.
*Great. Perfect. This is exactly what we need. Attention.*
"Is everything okay?" the woman asked.
Evan opened his mouth to explain—though what he'd explain, he had no idea. *Sorry, ma'am, we're fugitives from a secret government facility and we're empty?*
But Anaya turned her tear-stained face toward the woman first.
"I'm very hungry," Anaya said in the smallest, saddest voice imaginable. Like a kitten. "And Papa and I don't have dollars. We've been walking for so long and my feet hurt and—" Another sob. "—I just wanted one apple. Just one."
The woman's face melted faster than ice cream in July. "Oh, you poor thing! Here, honey—You take that. On the house."
"Really?" Anaya's tears stopped like someone had flipped a switch. Like magic. Like she hadn't just been the saddest creature on earth. "I can have it?"
"Of course! And—" The woman looked at Evan, who probably looked like he'd been dragged behind a truck. "—let me get you both something else. You look like you've had a rough time."
"That's really not necessary—" Evan started.
"Nonsense! Hold on."
Five minutes later, they left the store with not just the apple, but also two sandwiches, a bag of chips, a bottle of water, and—somehow—a cookie the size of Anaya's face. All free.
The moment they were out of earshot and around the corner, Evan looked down at Anaya. "Did you... did you cry on purpose?"
Anaya took a huge bite of her apple, chewing happily. Juice ran down her chin. "Maybe."
"Kid!"
"But Papa, I really WAS hungry! And you said humans like to help." She grinned up at him, showing apple-covered teeth. "And that nice lady DID help. So it worked!"
"That was manipulation!"
"That was survival," she corrected, sounding way too much like her mother. "Mama says sometimes being cute is a survival skill."
"Your mama sounds like a smart woman."
Evan shook his head, but he couldn't help the small smile. "That was... okay, yes, you were very good at acting. But we can't do that all the time. It's not right."
"Why not?"
"Because—" Evan paused. How do you explain ethics to a five-year-old con artist? "—because eventually people catch on and then it doesn't work anymore. Also, it's wrong or something. Morals. You know."
"Oh." Anaya considered this while demolishing her apple. "So I can only do it sometimes?"
"How about we go with 'only in emergencies'?"
"Is being hungry an emergency?"
"Kid, if you get any better at this, I'm in trouble."
They found a bench and Anaya devoured her apple and sandwich in record time. Evan was pretty sure she didn't even chew. Just inhaled it like a tiny vacuum.
He ate his own sandwich more slowly, watching her. She had food in her hair somehow. How did she always get food everywhere? It was like a superpower.
"Better?" he asked.
"So much better!" She swung her legs happily, her cap bobbing. "Papa, human food is weird but good. Why is the meat between bread? Who thought of that?"
"Someone brilliant. But we still need real money. So I'm going to go find this Henry guy and do some work. Think you can behave yourself?"
"I'm always behaved!"
That was debatable at best, but Evan let it slide.
---
247 Maple Street was a small house that looked like it needed help about ten years ago. Paint peeling, yard overgrown, a chicken coop that was actively falling apart as they watched.
"Papa, that house looks sad," Anaya whispered.
"Yeah, well, we're about to make it less sad."
An old man was working on the coop with the determination of someone who refused to admit defeat. He looked up as they approached, curious. "Help you?"
"I'm John Miller. This is my daughter Anna. I saw your sign about work?" Evan put on his most trustworthy face. The face that said *I'm definitely not wanted by the military.*
And Now he was waiting whether it would work.