The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 42

< Every Step Counts-2

+25 Points

Every Step Counts-2

She found an empty seat and sank into it, hugging the backpack to her chest like a lifeline.

Her stomach churned, nerves finally demanding their due. She pulled out a strip of beef jerky, chewing slowly, deliberately, grounding herself. A few careful sips of water followed.

For now… she was okay.

She refused-refused-to think about the pack. About her parents. About Nick. About the bond she had accepted breaking, the pain she knew she had caused, the chaos shè had left behind.

Those thoughts could wait.

Survival came first.

She adjusted her cap lower, curling inward, becoming smaller, quieter.

“Iva,” Avalon murmured gently inside her mind, finally allowing herself to ease. “Rest. We will need strength later. I’ll stay alert.”

Emotion swelled suddenly, fierce and aching.

“Thank you,” Iva whispered back. “For everything.”

There was no hesitation in Avalon’s reply.

“Always.”

The bus rumbled forward, carrying them away-farther than anyone in the pack could imagine.

And for the first time since her first shift, Iva let herself breathe.

–

The hours on the bus passed in a blur.

The world outside was a smear of headlights, darkened roads, and the occasional neon sign that flickered like a distant promise she could not yet reach.

Iva refused to leave her seat whenever the bus stopped. Every pause, every small break in motion, felt like a trap. She could be seen. Recorded. Tracked. The thought alone sent a sharp pang of anxiety through her

chest.

Better safe than sorry, she told herself, hugging the backpack closer, tucking the straps under her arms so they wouldn’t slip, so no one could read the contents or guess her purpose.

Sleep came fitfully, shallow and fleeting. Every bump of the bus made her flinch, reminded her of the chase, of the pack’s eyes, and the heavy weight of freedom that pressed against her shoulders.

Avalon stayed silent, vigilant, sending tiny pulses of reassurance into her mind whenever the tremors of fear threatened to overwhelm her.

Hours blurred. Darkness melted into early morning, morning bled into midday, and finally, at long last, the

1/3

<Every Step Cents-2

bus hissed to a stop at her destination,

+25 Points>

Iva’s heart hammering like a war drum, she gripped her backpack straps and stared at the world outside,

half-expecting an ambush, half-expecting the ground to swallow her. Her legs felt like lead. Her body screamed in pain-every inch stiff, every nerve raw from the relentless sprint through forests, the hours cramped on a bus, the constant alertness that had kept her from collapsing earlier. Plus, her bladder was ready to explode.

She forced herself to move, one trembling step at a time, guided only by memory and the careful planning she had done just days ago.

Her destination came into view: a cheap hostel she had successfully rented online. Her chest tightened as she approached. The building was far more shabby than the website had suggested. Peeling paint, rusted bars on the windows, a flickering light above the entrance. Fear gripped her stomach with icy fingers.

This is it, she whispered to herself. There’s no going back now.

Prior reaching here, passing a fast-food joint on the way, the smell of fries and grilled meat made her stomach growl, reminding her she hadn’t eaten properly for some time now. But the prices displayed on the windows were absurd for her limited savings. Definitely she overestimated her savings.

She exhaled sharply and kept walking. Every penny mattered now; every misstep could jeopardize the fragile safety she had clawed for herself.

When she entered the hostel, she was greeted by a disinterested receptionist whose eyes didn’t linger longer than necessary. Iva let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Perfect, she thought. No questions, no ID verification, no unnecessary attention. She took her key and stepped into the dim hallway, each footstep echoing softly, a constant reminder that she was on borrowed

time.

The room was small, spartan, and smelled faintly of bleach and damp wood.

It didn’t matter.

Safety came before comfort. She dropped her backpack on the bed, sank into the edge, and finally allowed herself a moment to breathe.

Then, with a groan of exhaustion, she used the toilet finally and crawled into the tiny, grmy shower, letting the water wash away sweat, dirt, and the remnants of the forest chase.

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