Ara stuffed the food into her mouth without finesse, glad that the couple of farmers did not seem to notice.

They’re just too polite to say anything, she thought, and she wished she could slow down and show a modicum of decorum. But she was starving, and as much as she wanted to show manners to the kind strangers before her, it was as if her body had overtaken her mind.

“Are you American?” Betty asked.

Ara nodded in response. “Yes,” she answered, swallowing a chunk of bread almost too quickly. “From San Francisco. I came here for a job, but it didn’t pan out. Now I have no money to get home.”

“That’s terrible,” Rolf sighed. “That happens a fair bit, though. They cast a wide net, offer a dozen people the same position, and only pick the one they like best, leaving the others to find their way home without any options. You poor girl.”

She offered them a small smile and nodded.

“I appreciate your kindness,” she told them sincerely, her green eyes wide with appreciation. “I am just trying to make my way to Johannesburg.”

“Oh, my dear!” Betty cried. “That is a dangerous trip for such a lovely girl to be making alone. You should stay here for a while, and we will ask around to find you some odd jobs for income.”

Ara’s back tensed. There was no way in hell she was staying in one spot. As far as she knew, the police were already on her tail, and every minute she stayed on the farm, she endangered the couple who had been kind enough to take her in.

“Thank you,” she replied demurely. “That would help me a great deal.”

Of course, there was no reason for them to know she was on the run. The last thing she needed was to arouse their suspicion.

I will sneak out in the middle of the night, she thought. Maybe I’ll even steal their truck. Even though Ara was instantly ashamed of herself at the idea, she was in fight-or-flight mode, her desire to survive overcoming her desire to do right. You’re not stealing their truck. They have been nothing but kind to you.

Silently, Ara continued shoveling food down her windpipe as her mind worked furiously. She had no way of contacting the others and no money to move. How the hell had she gotten here? The plan had been so seamless.

Obviously not. Suddenly she was on the cape of the country while her co-conspirators were God only knew where. For all Ara knew, they were all captured or dead.

The idea that her friends were endangered filled her with dread and regret, but it was far too late for either emotion. All she could do now was move forward and try to get out of the country.

“Are you all right, dear? You seem a little pale.”

Ara nodded, forcing a grin on her face. “I was just relishing this delicious meal,” she replied.

“I don’t suppose they have much waterblommetjie bredie in San Francisco?” Betty teased. “It’s a South African staple stew.”

“Whatever it is, I can’t thank you enough for it,” Ara insisted, staring up at the woman with naked thankfulness.

“Oh, hush now,” Betty chuckled. “We rarely get visitors out this way. Our own children have moved to the city now, and they have lives of their own. They never make time to visit their old parents.”

Ara felt a stab of sympathy for them as she caught the wistful note in Betty’s voice.

“That is very much their loss,” she said. “This stew is the best I’ve ever eaten. I could have this for dinner every night!”

The couple giggled at her gusto. “Be careful what you wish for, child, or I might just feed it to you every night.”

It was Ara’s turn to feel sad.

I wish I could stay here, she thought. Can I stay here? She scowled at the stupidity of the idea. You are twenty-six years old. Stop being a child, she scolded herself.

“The guest bedroom is all made up already,” Rolf offered, noting the tiredness in Ara’s pale face.

“And there are fresh towels in the guest bathroom if you want to shower,” Betty added. “But you seem exhausted, child. Go and rest.”

Ara shook her head, reaching for the empty bowls. “At least let me do the dishes,” she said.

“I have a dishwasher, child,” Betty laughed. “We may be farmers, but we are not stuck in the middle ages.”

Ara blushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course not, dear,” Rolf interjected, casting his wife a scolding look. “Betty was just joking.”

“Go and rest,” Betty repeated, and Ara glanced at her gratefully.

“Thank you,” she breathed, rising to drop her napkin onto the table.

“Up the stairs and on your left, second door,” Rolf called after her.

Ara nodded and made her way toward the foyer, climbing the stairs. She had not realized just how exhausted she was, though it only made sense: she had been on the run for a week, ever since the hacking of the South African government.

While Ara had had nothing to do with it firsthand, they had all fled in the aftermath, knowing that it was only a matter of time before their association with the guilty party was discovered.

The guilty party, she thought bitterly. Goddamn you, Skylar. You screwed all of us without any regard for what would happen.

Still, she had no way of knowing exactly who knew what or if she was even being sought. All she knew was that running was her only option, although what she was running toward, she had no idea.

Albeit, that hijacking probably got some coverage, she reasoned, laboriously taking the steps one at a time, as if her legs weighed a ton. Ara knew she couldn’t stay overnight at the farm, but she also knew she needed rest before she kept going. I’ll take a shower and rest for a few hours before heading out. I’ll decide whether to take the truck when I wake up. I’m too tired to make any decisions right now.

But even as she thought it, Ara knew she was not taking the farmers’ vehicle, not when they had extended such kindness to her. Besides, that was more Skylar’s style than hers. She shoved his face out of her head, determined not to wallow in her plight that evening. She had a few minutes of peace, no matter how fleeting, and she intended to embrace them.

Ara found the guest bedroom without any issue, and despite her resolve to keep moving, she could not help melting slightly at the warmth exuding from the walls of the space.

Antique furniture decorated each corner of the room: an old-fashioned writing desk, a four-poster bed, and two matching nightstands in a deep, honey maple. A handmade quilt covered the bed, accenting the embroidered pillows, and Ara could tell that Betty had made them.

What is wrong with their kids? she wondered to herself. If I had parents like Betty and Rolf, I would never move out!

But she didn’t have parents like Betty and Rolf. Ara couldn’t even imagine what it was like to have dinner together every night and sleep in a house so warm and secure every day of her childhood.

Some people have all the luck in the world, and they don’t even realize how good they have it, she thought bitterly, slipping her canvas bag onto the floor. But I guess the grass is always greener. I’m sure Rolf and Betty have some skeletons of their own.

It didn’t matter to Ara. She knew that everyone had a past. No one could change where they had come from, but they could always change where they were going.

She wondered if she was going to a South African jail.

A knock on the door caught her attention and made her turn. Betty stood in the doorway, holding out a pile of folded garments.

“These belonged to my daughter, Mary,” the white-haired woman said, stepping over the threshold. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but she’s a little bigger than you, and she wore them when she was a girl, so they might fit if you’re in the market for new clothes.”

The pile contained a soft cotton tracksuit, t-shirt, and a fresh pair of socks.

Unexpectedly, tears sprang to Ara’s eyes, and she blinked them back as fast as she could but not before a stray drop spilled onto her cheek.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Betty exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

Ara shook her head, unable to speak for a moment as she caught her breath.

“You are so kind,” she whispered. “I—I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You must stop saying that,” Betty chided her, placing a hand on Ara’s shoulder. Impulsively, Ara threw herself into Betty’s arms. The farmer seemed taken aback by the gesture, but she slowly encased Ara in a hug. “It’s all right, dear,” Betty murmured. “It must be very scary for you in a strange country without any money, but everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

Ara sniffled and pulled back, embarrassed at her behavior.

“Of course you’re right,” she replied quickly. “I think I’m just… overtired and emotional.”

“Go on and rest now.”

Ara watched as her benefactor disappeared back into the hallway and swallowed the lump in her throat.

She is going to make leaving here way more difficult than it already is, she thought mournfully, but she shoved it out of her head. She had to go. There was no other option. You’ll have a clearer head after you rest.

Ara woke with a gasp, her heart thudding wildly in her chest.

Outside, dusk had melted away into early evening, and for a fleeting second, she forgot where she was, the nightmare still gnawing at the edge of her mind as she fought to understand.

You’re in Port Elizabeth, she reminded herself, willing her pulse to even. Rolf and Betty Van Buren have taken you in. You can go back to bed. You can’t sneak away yet. It’s still too early.

A part of her wondered if that was the only thing keeping her from slipping out of bed.

Before she had fallen asleep, she’d had a mental debate like no other, wanting to stay with every fiber of her being. Of course, her common sense had won, but she was still in no rush to jump from the comfort of the soft bed into the unknown beyond.

Ara sat up, her green eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room. Something nagged at her, keeping her from falling back against the pillows to bury her nose into her freshly washed curls.

Suddenly, she knew what it was.

Someone was speaking just outside the open window below. The tone was low, but there were unmistakable words to be heard.

Cautiously, Ara threw her legs over the side of the bed and padded toward the window to listen.

“—saw her face, Rolf. How can you do this?”

“It’s out of our hands, Betty. Keep your voice down or you’ll wake her up.”

“She trusted us!” Betty cried. “This is a new low, even for you. No wonder the kids never come around! You’re despicable!”

“You won’t say that when we cash in the reward money and I take you to Brazil like you’ve always wanted.”

“It doesn’t feel right, Rolf. Maybe we’ve got the girl all wrong. What if she is innocent?”

“That’s for the police to decide, Betty, not us. We are doing our civic duty.”

Chills of terror shot through Ara as she realized what was happening, her body springing into action before her mind could entirely catch up.

They sold me out to the cops! she thought as she snatched her bag off the floor and shoved her feet into her worn runners. Inhaling, she pried open the door and peered into the hallway, willing her heart rate to slow down. It was pounding so loudly, she could hear nothing else over the incessant thudding.

Betty and Rolf were at the back of the house. Ara would have to leave through the front and pray that the cops didn’t show up before she made a dash for the coastline.

In her panic, she was disoriented, unsure of which direction to take. How could she have been so stupid? Of course they knew she was a wanted fugitive! That was the only reason they had been so nice to her. They had wanted to win her trust so that they could collect the money on her head.

For a brief moment, Ara considered sitting down and allowing it all to happen. So what if they found her and questioned her association with Skylar? She could play dumb, and at least she would have a place to stay with food and a lumpy bed. Would it be that bad?

But just as quickly as the idea surfaced, it dissipated. Arabella Pinot did not resign for anyone. It was not in her blood. If it had been, she would have been dead long ago.

I will keep running until I find safety, she told herself. It is what I have always done, and no South African cops are going to take that away from me. She shoved her almost palpable fear aside and slid into the hallway, stealing down the stairs toward the front door. I think I saw a wooded area not far from here. I can disappear in there for a while.

Strangely, a flash from a dream overcame her mind for a brief second, but it was gone before she could capture what her subconscious was trying to tell her.

Okay, here goes nothing. Inhaling, she threw open the door and froze as half a dozen flashlight beams fell on her, the geared South African Police Service aiming their weapons at her.

“Arabella Pinot, you are being arrested on the charges of aircraft hijacking and computer crimes in varying degrees. Show us your hands and step forward slowly.”

Ara’s eyes darted through the darkness, looking for an escape, but their guns were suddenly very real and terrifying. She stared into the night, at the team of officers designated to take her down, and the desire to fight suddenly dissolved into a puddle.

There was nowhere to run.

After a week of running, she had been defeated by people pretending to be her friends, by a couple she had trusted.

This is becoming the story of my life, she thought miserably, raising her hands in surrender.