Chapter 1 — The Hitchhiker
Atlas
The highway stretched ahead, a dark ribbon cutting through the vast emptiness of the plains. The amber glow of his truck’s dashboard illuminated Atlas Reed’s furrowed brow as he gripped the steering wheel, his hazel eyes darting between the endless asphalt and the faint hum of his CB radio. The rhythmic growl of the engine and the steady thrum of tires against the road were his constant companions, a backdrop to the silence he preferred and protected.
The clock on the dashboard read just past midnight. The world beyond his windshield was cloaked in darkness, the cool night air drifting through the cracked window. The faint scent of diesel hung in the breeze, mingling with the sharper bite of dry grass from the plains. He adjusted the dial on the CB radio, listening for the crackle of chatter but finding only static. Another stretch of highway, another night that would dissolve into the next.
His headlights swept the roadside, and that’s when he saw her—a lone figure standing still in the stark glow of the beams, her arms wrapped around herself. Just beyond her was a car, its hazard lights blinking faintly like the last breaths of a dying star. The image struck him: the woman’s silhouette against the backdrop of night, alone and exposed in an endless void. His foot eased off the gas, his heartbeat quickening.
Atlas’s boot hovered over the brake. He didn’t pick up strangers—that was a hard rule. He didn’t need the trouble. But the way she waved, deliberate and just shy of desperate, froze the thought of driving past. Her other hand clutched the strap of a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, the weight of it pulling her frame slightly to one side, as if everything she owned was packed into that bag.
His hands tightened on the wheel. He didn’t need this. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. But a faint shadow of memory flickered in the back of his mind—his brother’s notebook, left behind in the truck’s glove compartment, and the guilt that never quite loosened its grip. He shifted in his seat, his chest tightening at the thought. The same pull of responsibility that had haunted him for years stirred again, urging him to stop.
“Damn it,” he muttered. His jaw set as he slowed the truck, the hiss of the brakes breaking the spell of the quiet highway. He veered onto the shoulder, gravel crunching under his tires.
Climbing down, Atlas took a moment to scan the surroundings. The cool breeze brushed against his face, carrying the faintest hum of distant wind turbines. The road stretched empty in both directions, no headlights or signs of life beyond the woman and her broken-down car. Still, he let his sharp gaze sweep the scene, his instincts pricking as they always did when things felt off. Satisfied, he shifted his focus to her.
She stepped forward cautiously, her shoulders stiff with both relief and unease. The duffel bag stayed firmly on her shoulder, her hand gripping the strap tightly. Her green eyes caught the moonlight, flicking between him and the truck. She looked small against the vast night, but there was nothing fragile in her stance—only weariness, as if she’d been fighting her own battles long before this car trouble.
“Need some help?” Atlas asked, his voice low and steady.
She hesitated, her green eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah. My car’s dead,” she said, the edge in her tone cutting through the quiet. There was frustration there, but also something deeper. Her voice carried a weariness he recognized—one that came from more than a broken car.
“How long you been out here?” he asked, his tone neutral but his posture guarded.
“Long enough to question every life choice that led me here.” Her words came quick, laced with a dry humor that caught him off guard. She folded her arms, watching him with a mix of defiance and hesitation, as if she wasn’t sure whether to let down her guard or double it.
He grunted, nodding toward her car. “Pop the hood.”
She blinked, surprised by his directness, but shrugged and turned back to the car. “You’re the boss.”
Atlas followed, pulling a flashlight from his pocket. The car was old, paint scuffed and tires worn from too many miles. He shone the beam under the hood, his brow furrowing at what he saw—or didn’t see. The engine was a mess of neglect. She hovered near him, still clutching the strap of her bag, her wariness palpable in the way she kept her distance without stepping too far back.
“Battery’s dead,” he said after a moment. “Alternator might be shot too.”
She leaned against the car with a groan, her fingers rubbing her temples. “Fantastic. Just when I thought tonight couldn’t get any worse.”
Atlas straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans. The logical part of his brain urged him to walk away. He didn’t do small talk or unnecessary entanglements. But the thought of leaving her here—alone and vulnerable on this stretch of highway—made something twist in his chest. He let out a slow breath, the weight of his decision pressing down on him.
“There’s a truck stop about thirty miles back,” he said, his tone careful. “I can drop you off there.”
Her eyes darted to his face, searching for something she couldn’t quite name. “You’re not a serial killer or anything, right?” she asked, her lips curving into a faint, nervous smile. Before he could respond, she added quickly, “Sorry. That’s probably not the best way to start this conversation.” Her laugh was short, edged with unease.
Atlas raised an eyebrow. “If I was, I wouldn’t tell you.”
She snorted, a quick sound that seemed to surprise her. “Fair point.” Straightening, she hitched her duffel bag higher on her shoulder. “Alright, let’s do this. Lead the way, Mister...?”
“Atlas,” he said simply, already turning toward his truck.
“Atlas,” she repeated, falling into step behind him. “Cool name. Very strong. Very... mysterious.”
He ignored the comment, climbing into the cab and waiting for her to settle into the passenger seat. The truck rumbled to life as he eased back onto the highway, the faint glow of her car’s hazards fading into the darkness behind them.
For a time, there was only silence, broken occasionally by the crackle of the CB radio. Atlas felt her watching him out of the corner of her eye, her curiosity practically vibrating off her. He kept his gaze forward, focusing on the road.
“You always this chatty?” she asked finally, her tone light but probing.
“I talk when there’s something to say,” he replied, his voice even.
She huffed a small laugh, leaning back in her seat. “Alright, strong and silent. I can work with that.”
Atlas glanced at her briefly. She was a puzzle he didn’t want to solve, not yet. Still, her presence had already disrupted the rhythm he’d spent years perfecting. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
“What’s your name?” he asked after a long pause.
“Maren,” she said, her voice softer now. “Maren Cress.”
He nodded, turning his focus back to the road. The miles stretched ahead, the highway illuminated by the truck’s headlights and the distant pinprick glow of stars.
“Do you always stop for hitchhikers?” she asked, her voice breaking the silence again. “Or am I just special?”
“Don’t usually pick anyone up,” he admitted.
“Hmm.” She tilted her head, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “Well, thanks for making an exception.”
Her tone was light, but the vulnerability in her posture wasn’t lost on him. He could see it in the way she clutched her bag, her gaze flicking between him and the window as if bracing for something to go wrong.
“Thanks,” she said suddenly, her voice quieter now. “For not leaving me out there.”
Atlas glanced at her, surprised. “For what?”
“For stopping,” she said, her gaze dropping to her lap. “Not everyone would have.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he settled for gruff honesty. “Didn’t feel right leaving you out there.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile, the tension between them softening, if only slightly.
As the truck rumbled deeper into the night, Atlas’s thoughts drifted. He didn’t know why he’d stopped for her, or why he already felt the faint pull of wanting to keep her safe. The routine he’d built so carefully was unraveling, and he wasn’t sure how far this disruption would go. But the road had brought them together, and for now, they were heading into the unknown.
