Fifty miles outside of Chicago, on the interstate, Davyn abandoned his car in a gas station. After driving for over an hour, listening to the latest speculations about Snitch Gravel, he decided that, should they identify him, his beloved Mustang was a dead giveaway.

It broke his heart to leave it behind, but it was just another crack among the many. At some point during the drive, his temples had started to throb.

While he walked in the cold, hitchhiking whenever a car passed by, his mind was unfortunately free to wander. He'd chosen to head on east for some reason. Maybe because he'd been down that road mere hours ago, it felt natural to return from where he'd come, filled with hope.

Mere hours ago... He'd been happy then, looking forward to sharing his news with Millie. See her, hold her again. Hope. He'd had so much hope, and it had all come crashing down in just a few hours.

Freider... The biggest question mark was his brother. Could this entire debacle have produced something good? But something about the entire interaction rubbed Davyn the wrong way, and the more he walked, the more frustrated he became that he couldn't figure out what it was. Had Freider felt insincere? Conniving? Quick to get rid of him?

Maybe all of those, but it still made no sense. If he wanted to real finish Davyn off, it was as easy as calling the police on him and telling them he was Snitch Gravel. He didn't have to play any complicated games. So what was it then? His inability to trust his older brother on principle? The migraine slowly building inside his skull was surely not helping, but he'd never felt more trapped than now.

Millie, Baron, Freider, the fire, the police... Snitch Gravel. It all boiled down to how the scapegoat had finally been used as it was always intended to be. Did Baron truly plan this as a form of revenge for his attempt to pull away? It felt a little too smart for him. Even so, it was still his interaction with Freider that felt as if he'd fallen into a trap. Was it just the weirdness of it, or were there some hidden signals that his subconscious had picked up on, but his mind was too rattled to process?

As he ran over every detail of the conversation, another few cars zoomed by, so, without giving it much thought, he stuck his thumb out to indicate he wanted a lift. To his utter shock, a silver pickup pulled over a few yards ahead.

Hoisting his duffle bag over his shoulder, Davyn jogged in that direction, doing his best to pull out of contemplation and return to reality. By the time he reached the truck, the driver had already opened the passenger door for him and was waiting. 

Davyn stopped in front of it, taking in the man behind the wheel. He was burly, and his white hair was in a buzz cut, which indicated that he was most likely ex-military. He wore a dark green turtleneck and dark jeans with a heavy winter jacket thrown in the back. His eyes were steel grey, and his cheeks lined, so Davyn deduced he was maybe in his sixties. Despite his military demeanor, he didn't look dangerous, and Davyn had a gun anyway, so he didn't see an issue with getting in that car.

"Where're you heading, kid?" the man asked. His voice was low, and even if he sounded relaxed, it was obvious he was used to commanding other men.

"East," Davyn answered.

"What a coincidence, me too. Judging by your subtle sign, I'll say you're looking for a lift?"

"Sure, if you're willing to take me."

The man nodded, so Davyn tossed the duffle bag in the bed of the truck and got into the passenger seat. Once the door closed, he realized he'd been freezing. The warmth in the cabin had him thawing.

"You can throw your jacket in the back with mine," the driver said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder.

Davyn complied, careful not to raise his hoodie and reveal the holster of his gun, then relaxed into the seat and glanced out the window. The truck pulled back onto the freeway and the freezing scenery zoomed passed them, lulling him to sleep.

"How'd you get all the way out here?"

"My car broke down."

"Where, in Chicago?"

The man was obviously not an idiot, so Davyn decided it was best to shrug and lean his head against the window. Fortunately, the radio played some slow country garbage, so no news about Snitch Gravel invaded the tiny space.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"Nope."

This seemed to work, because the man just drove on. It was a lot more pleasant than being out in the cold, but Davyn still hated how his mind swirled back to Chicago and what he'd left behind. This time, it was all about Millie. He missed her so much, his chest felt as if it were bleeding. Would Freider find her and give her the note? If he didn't, how much damage would this do?

The question was a never-ending loop he had no answer for, and it painted a reality in which Millie was no longer there. It was hard to come to terms with it when all he'd done, everything he'd changed about his miserable life had been for her. To see her smile and make her feel safe. He couldn't lose her, especially not because of Freider's lazy ass.

But it wasn't like there was anything he could do from here. Just hope that once he returned, she either knew he was innocent and welcomed him back, or he could at least tell her everything and convince her that he had nothing to do with it. He had to. If there was one thing that he trusted, it was her love for him. His feelings were definitely not one-sided. She would've never come back otherwise.

"Just so you know, we're heading south now."

The strange voice had Davyn startling awake when he hadn't even realized he'd dosed off. He shifted in his seat, his bones numb, feeling like an idiot and completely vulnerable.

"That's fine," he mumbled.

The driver gave him a sideways glance. "Is it now? You don't mind going south?"

"As long as you don't take me to Florida, I'm fine."

"Why? Not a fan of Disney World?"

"I'm a little old for that."

"Are you sure, kid?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He knew he sounded annoyed, but the conversation was getting on his nerves, even if he was aware he was upset with himself for falling asleep and not with his more than generous driver.

"If you want me to stop calling you kid, you'd better give me a name."

Davyn tensed and pulled a little further away. By the looks of it, they'd been driving for hours, and the man had been patient enough. That didn't make him want to share.

"How about you give me a name?"

The driver quirked an eyebrow as if he found his hostility pathetic. "Edwards," he said, demonstrating how grown-ups behaved.

"With the s at the end? What, are there more of you?" Davyn retorted, demonstrating how teenage brats behaved. He was aware of it, so he heaved a sigh. "Brian," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Brian."

"Nice to meet you, too... Um, don't you have a first name?"

The man smiled. "Nope."

"So it's just Edwards? Like Cher?"

This time, Edwards let out a low chuckle. "Sort of like that. You're funny, Brian. At least when you're not huffy."

"Sorry about the huffy bit." No, he wasn't, but better to play friendly than risk suspicion.

"I'm guessing that someone running away has reasons to be huffy."

The blood froze in his veins, and he did his best not to wince. "I'm eighteen. I'm not running away."

The man threw him a calculating look that proved that all the joking around was merely a façade. "I didn't say you were running away from home. Where are you headed? A man who travels has a destination. A man who runs doesn't."

Shit, he had a point. So Davyn did what he was good at. Deflected. "Where are you going?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Because I'm in the car with you, and I'd like to know where I'll end up."

"You'll end up where you want to as long as it's in my way."

They were at a stand still, and all traces of amusement had disappeared from the man's voice. Davyn didn't have an answer, so he just stiffened, leading his hand casually to his back to check his holster. The gun was still there, safely hidden by the fabric of his hoodie.

"I know you're packing, but I wouldn't try anything funny if I were you."

Davyn just stiffened some more. The drive had just become too uncomfortable. "You're free to pull over and drop me off. I promise I won't shoot you."

Edwards hummed and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You couldn't shoot me even if you wanted to. But I won't throw you out of my car. I'd rather tell you a story, Brian."

Davyn blinked. "What?"

"Once upon a time, there were two great countries who wanted to spread their influence across the world. They were once allies in a great war, but they didn't see eye to eye when it came to the important things. One wanted freedom, to respect human rights, and economic development. The other wanted obedience and greatness for the motherland. Of course, this led to a silent battle of wills between the two nations.

"But the Great War had crippled both nations, and it was much to soon to start another. A race began instead, shrouded in fear and uncertainty, for the disagreement between the two countries could at any time degenerate into a new war, even in these conditions. So, instead of fighting, they sought to outshine each other in every way possible."

Davyn couldn't believe the randomness of the conversation. "Why are you telling me this? It's the US and the USSR. You're talking about the Cold War, and it's been over for a year now."

Edwards raised his eyebrows, and Davyn just sank back into his seat, feeling something he hadn't in a long while. Shame. As if he were the silly kid chastised by an adult.

"That is actually the point of my story, kid," the man said. "To prove that you might think you know everything, but you don't."

That hit a little too close to home, so Davyn decided to shut up and let the man talk.

"Now, as I was saying, the two global powers started a different type of war, one that implied some subtle moves, and some that were very obvious. They raced each other to develop weapons, they raced each other to produce the best athletes, they raced each other into outer space... I think no one could deny that this race, in the end, benefitted both nations given that it was a drive for progress."

"It was also a drive for poverty," Davyn mumbled. "And for wasting resources to prove a greatness that didn't touch the common man."

Edwards gave him a sideways glance, but didn't contradict him. "Being the best, or thinking that you are the best, does touch the common man. It's called patriotism, and governments thrive on it. Deal in it. It's what happened to these great nations. Each wanted to be the first because whoever was first would not only have the loyalty of its population, but of all the countries in the world. Which is why each of them wanted to always know how the other was doing. And here is where the unseen parts of the Cold War come. Some less shrouded in mystery than others.

"Everyone knows some of it. The CIA, the FBI, the KGB. Those are all familiar names. But there were always others. Projects that no one knew both countries were yearning to finalize."

Despite his initial reluctance, Davyn found himself leaning forward in his seat.

"But you well know what happened. The Cold War ended, and some say there was a winner." Edwards shrugged. "But was there really when so many things were left unfinished?"

"Such as?"

The man smirked. "Now you're interested?"

"Well, you did mention some things that I'm not familiar with."

"And what exactly made you curious?"

"These unfinished projects you mentioned. Possible secret organizations." Just Edwards suddenly made sense. The military demeanor, his way of detecting bullshit. And the entire conversation triggered some long-forgotten memory for Davyn.

"These projects were not abandoned, not by a long shot. They just became too important to be handled by one country alone."

Davyn frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Edwards turned towards him for a moment. "Well, this is as far as my story goes unless you decide where you want to arrive."

His tone had the hairs on Davyn's neck stand on end. He could sense the danger, the trap, but he was also intrigued. "You didn't pick me up by accident, did you?"

"No, Davyn, I did not."

The fact that Edwards knew his real name wasn't even shocking at this point. "If I ask you to drop me off here, would you pull over?"

"Yes, I would."

"And if I don't, where will you take me?"

"Further southeast."

"Why?"

"Because there is more to story, but what comes next has a price which you must decide if you are willing to pay."

Davyn narrowed his eyes. He didn't feel threatened. He believed Edwards would pull over if he asked, but he was too intrigued by what this really meant to risk being left on the freeway.

"What's this price?"

"Secrecy. And loyalty."

"To what? To you?"

"To us."

Of course there was a collective, and of course it was bigger than Edwards. From his story, Davyn could tell it was not CIA or FBI, or even the army. It was something else. One of the shadow organizations he'd mentioned, so getting the name of it would mean nothing because he wouldn't have heard of it anyway. But it also didn't mean he could throw himself in blindly either, as curious as he was. The timing was too weird.

"What are you after, and who do you answer to?"

"Both intelligent questions," Edwards said with a nod. "I will also assume that you are intelligent enough to know that I can't tell you much until you express your desire to be involved. What I can tell you is that we're looking to pick up some abandoned projects of significant importance and gain. Who we answer to... Well, to everyone."

"Everyone."

"Everyone who matters." Edwards smiled at him. "The UN, to be more precise."

Davyn turned in his seat so that he could face Edwards directly and read his expression. Nothing in his body language indicated that he was lying. So the next question was easy.

"Why me?"

"Let's just say that someone gave us some great references about you."

The answer was vague, but it triggered Davyn's memory in a way few things hand lately. Reference... Something big and hidden was on the brink of being revealed to him at a time when he needed stability most. His knowledge, his understanding of the implications of Edwards' words, the way in which everything seemed to come together.

"And if I get into this, what will I be getting in return?" he asked.

Edwards' smile only broadened. "Purpose. And the chance to be a part of something that truly matters."

Purpose. The word could have as well fallen from different lips on a different day.

"We're heading to DC, aren't we?"

There was no answer, just another smile which proved that his assumptions were right.

"Is that where your base of operation is?"

"Wouldn't it make sense if it were?"

It definitely did, but if his theory was right, there was more to it. "Do you by any chance operate out of Chicago as well?"

This time, Edwards chuckled. "Sirius always said you were a very bright kid."

The words confirmed what he'd suspected ever since Edwards had finished his story.

The bright future his father had promised him had finally come calling.

♣♣♣

What perfect timing, right? You thought that I'd forgotten to get into this? Oh no, Sirius Grant's ghost is not done with his son. Davyn finally found out what his father was actually doing. It's now up to him to continue his father's work.

But he left home behind and you know that's going to hell. Let's ignore that for a moment and focus on meeting some familiar people, shall we?

Thanks so much for your support and don't forget to leave a vote and maybe a comment now that the story shifted.