The bathroom was silent except for the soft hum of the overhead light and the occasional drip from the faucet. Kiro stood in front of the mirror, scissors in hand, staring at her reflection. Her hair—thick, dark, and nearly two feet long—hung like a curtain around her face, the last remnant of the girl she’d been pretending to be. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the first section and sliced through it. The sound was dull, like cutting through rope. Strands fell to the tile floor in clumps, curling like question marks.

  She didn’t hesitate. Section by section, she hacked away until her scalp felt lighter, exposed. When she was done, she looked up. The girl in the mirror was gone. In her place stood someone sharper, leaner, younger-looking—maybe fifteen. That was the point. She ran a hand over the uneven tufts, then grabbed the electric trimmer she’d stolen from her stepdad’s drawer and buzzed it down to jagged tuffs. No one would recognize her now. Hopefully.

  She cleaned up quickly, stuffing the hair into a grocery bag and tossing it into the outside bin. Back inside, she zipped up her backpack—already packed with a few changes of clothes, a hoodie, protein bars, cash she’d been hoarding for months, and a fake ID she’d bought online. She slipped on sneakers, grabbed the keys to her beat-up Honda, and crept out the front door without a sound.

  The drive to Target was quiet. The streets were empty, the world still asleep. She parked far from the entrance, under a broken streetlamp, and pulled her hood up. Inside, she moved fast—aisle to aisle, grabbing a burner phone, a charger, and a bottle of water. At checkout, she paid in cash, avoiding eye contact with the sleepy cashier.

  Back in the car, she powered on the phone and transferred three numbers: her sister, Theo, and one she hoped she’d never need. Then she powered her old phone off, cracked it against the dashboard until the screen splintered, and throw it on the passenger seat. She wiped down the steering wheel, the door handles, everything she might’ve touched. Then she slid the keys under the seat and walked away.

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  She didn’t look back.

  The air was cool and sharp as she walked, the city slowly waking around her. She passed shuttered storefronts, flickering neon signs, and the occasional early commuter. Her backpack thumped against her spine with each step. She kept her head down, her pace steady.

  By the time she reached the airport, the sky was turning pale. She blended in with the early travelers—backpackers, businesspeople, families wrangling toddlers. No one looked twice.

  Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, adrenaline. She slid her hand over the plane ticket in her pocket again and again, reassuring herself it was safe.

  She slipped inside, blending into the crowd. Her cropped hair and boyish clothes made her invisible—just another teenager dragged along on someone else’s itinerary. She kept her head down, eyes scanning for opportunity.

  Cameras were everywhere. And she was paranoid as a frick. She ducked into a family restroom and waited, counting minutes, letting the crowd shift. Then she emerged and followed a group of teens on a school trip, mimicking their energy, their pace. She stayed close enough to seem part of them, far enough not to be noticed.

  She got through security. Easy. Too easy, it was unnerving that nothing happened. No alarms going off, no police running after her. Could it really be that simple?

  Maybe it was. 15 minutes later she was on the plane. Window seat. Nice. She was just another passenger, just a kid with a backpack and a blank expression. At the gate, the attendant had barely glanced at her. She walked straight down the jet bridge, head down, shoulders hunched.

  Inside the plane, the air was stale and humming but somehow refreshing. She had moved quickly, eyes scanning rows until she reached the very back. Row 32. No one was on her row yet so slipping in was easy as well. She pressed herself against the wall, and pulled her hood up counting backwards from 20 to try and chill her heart out.

  Minutes passed with the rais and fall of strangers' conversions and all was well. Then someone sat beside her.