Chapter 3: Nowhere to Hide

The next day, I used the excuse of summer camp to leave home with my luggage.

I kept my head down, moving quickly. My heart pounded with every step, but I didn’t look back.

When I wondered why it was so easy to leave, the comments exploded again:

"Don’t even think about running away. Your adoptive parents are now the richest people in town—their eyes and ears are everywhere!"

The warning made me glance over my shoulder, scanning the street for anyone watching. Paranoia crept in, but I forced myself to keep moving.

Of course I wasn’t running away. I still had to get justice for my parents. How could I leave so easily?

I gripped my suitcase tighter, jaw set. I wasn’t running—I was regrouping. I had work to do.

I hailed a rideshare and told the driver, "To the police station."

The car smelled like fast food and air freshener. I slid into the back seat, trying to act casual. My palms were sweating.

"Why are you going to the police station? To investigate your parents’ car accident? Don’t go! Your parents keep a tight lid on that. If you go, you’re walking right into a trap!"

The messages flashed urgently, making my heart race. I swallowed, weighing my options.

"Agh, I’m so anxious! To get to the truth, the main lead has to go to the police station. If he can’t even do that, how’s he supposed to get justice!"

"Who knows what kind of dumb plot this author wrote, not giving the protagonist any way out—it’s so frustrating! 😩"

"Not only is there no way out, but he just had to let him find the adoption certificate. Isn’t that ridiculous!"

I read the messages one by one, gritted my teeth, and told the driver,

"Go to the outdoor supply store next to the police station. I heard they have camping gear, right?"

I figured if anyone was watching, they’d see me heading somewhere normal. I forced a smile, trying to sound like any other kid prepping for summer fun.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror and smiled. "Yeah, they’ve got everything."

He seemed friendly enough, but I didn’t let my guard down. You never know who’s listening in a small town.

After the driver dropped me off, I went into the outdoor supply store.

The place smelled like rubber boots and campfire smoke. I wandered the aisles, pretending to browse, my mind racing.

Through the mesh curtain, I saw that the rideshare car hadn’t left—it was parked not far away. I could feel eyes on me. According to the comments, there might be several pairs of eyes secretly monitoring me.

I kept my head down, but my skin prickled with unease. I was being watched, no doubt about it.

I’d never noticed it before, but thinking back, the rideshares lingering near my house always seemed to be the same seven or eight cars.

It was the kind of thing you only notice once you’re looking for it. I wondered how many other secrets I’d missed over the years.

At the time, I thought it was just a small town and I kept running into familiar faces. Now I realize that was all surveillance.

The thought made me shiver. I wasn’t just unlucky—I was being tracked, every move mapped out by someone else.

"Mrs. Carter, the kid went to the outdoor supply store, said he wants to buy camping gear."

I have two phones. I deliberately left one in the rideshare.

It was a trick I’d picked up from crime shows—leave a decoy, see who bites. My heart pounded as I waited for a sign.

After retrieving the phone, I played back the recording and heard the driver reporting my whereabouts to Mom.

His voice was muffled, but clear enough. My hands shook as I listened, anger simmering beneath the fear.

From his tone and what he said, the driver seemed to know nothing about the bigger picture.

He sounded bored, like this was just another errand. I wondered how many people were caught up in my parents’ web without even realizing it.

He even muttered quietly after reporting to Mom,

"Rich folks really know how to play—spending so much every month just to keep tabs on their own kid. Ha, money to burn."

His words stung, but they also gave me hope. If he didn’t know the truth, maybe others didn’t either. Maybe I still had a chance.

To make my act convincing, I really did go to summer camp.

I signed up, paid the fee, and boarded the bus with a bunch of other kids. The camp smelled like pine needles and bug spray, the air thick with laughter and the promise of adventure.

During that time, Dad called to ask if I was having fun and if I had enough money.

His voice was warm, familiar. For a second, I almost forgot why I was running.

I held the phone in silence for a long time.

I wanted to tell him everything, to beg for help, but I couldn’t. Not yet.

All these years, he’d cared for me so much—was it all just fake?

The question gnawed at me, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

"It’s pretty fun. The kids are nice. Dad, guess who else is here?"

I tried to sound upbeat, forcing a laugh. I wondered if he could hear the strain in my voice.

Dad pretended to guess: "I bet Hannah’s there—you’re closest with her, right?"

He always remembered the little things, even when I thought he wasn’t paying attention. It hurt, knowing how much I’d miss that.

I forced a smile and replied, "Mm." After telling him I had enough money, I hung up.

I stared at the phone for a long time after, wishing I could call him back and say all the things I never had the courage to say.

Just then, Hannah walked over with a smile.

She waved, her ponytail bouncing. "Hey, what a coincidence, Dylan! You came to summer camp too—let’s hang out together!"

Her voice was bright, but something in her eyes made me uneasy. I nodded, trying to act normal.

"Damn, this is full-time surveillance. How’s he supposed to get justice like this!"

"That Hannah was hired by the evil adoptive parents for a huge sum—she’s super vigilant and beautiful. Dylan, don’t fall for her! 😬"

"The protagonist’s life is like walking on thin ice—watched so closely, what can he even do!"

"Forget it, forget it, this dumb author didn’t give the protagonist any way out. At this rate, even if I live to eighty, I’ll never see him get his justice!"

The messages buzzed at the edge of my mind, a chorus of frustration and warning. I squared my shoulders, determined not to give up. If there was a way out, I’d find it. I owed that much to my real parents—and to myself.

I just hoped someone out there was still on my side.