Chapter 180: Half a Coin, Half a Chance

Words : 1144 Updated : Sep 21st, 2025

Chapter 180: Half a Coin, Half a ChanceThe train rattled gently beneath my boots. The world outside the window had warmed slightly, the sharp cold of dawn easing into something that could almost be called morning. Still empty, still quiet. A town passed in the distance—only a few rooftops, sagging under years of disuse and whatever war hadn’t yet reached them. The tracks continued forward like a promise that never learned how to lie. I was still standing at the window. Still debating. The decision felt like a blade suspended above my chest, swaying by an invisible thread. Evelyn was two stops away. Two. That was it. And yet... my ribs ached, my hands were barely healed, and my inventory consisted of: one plastic fruit knife, a few protein bars, and a jacket with a suspicious amount of blood on the inside lining. Brilliant arsenal. Couldn’t even rob a lemonade stand without needing backup. I leaned my forehead against the window, the cold glass fogging as I exhaled. She was close. But so was the point of no return. They didn’t know I was still active. That had to count for something. They likely assumed Connor and the subjects captured me and were dragging me off to who-knows-where. Unless Mark decided to let Connor be all talkative, I doubt he was able to send a report to them. Meaning that I had a sliver of time. A ghost of an advantage. If I went now, maybe I could strike before they locked the doors. Maybe they hadn’t moved Evelyn. Maybe she was still in that same holding facility, alive and waiting. But if I went unprepared... I scratched at the bandages under my shirt. I’d be walking into a storm with no armor. And this time, I didn’t think charm or reputation or luck would save me. Instinct said: lose-lose. A rare admission from the skill that had steered me through every impossible corridor and flaming escape plan. It whispered in the back of my mind like it was afraid of its own answer. Something bad will happen either way. So I pulled out the technique I only ever used when I couldn’t trust logic or gut. I reached into my coat pocket and took out a coin. Smooth. Silver. Scarred by age and pocket lint. "Heads for a pit stop," I whispered to no one. "Tails for Evelyn." I held it up between my fingers. Then flipped. It spun through the air like a question. But halfway through, I already knew the answer. I wanted heads. I wanted the delay. The time. The safety. The logic hadn’t convinced me. The fear hadn’t convinced me. But the coin... the simple, stupid coin gave me clarity. I caught it and slapped it on the back of my hand. Didn’t even look at the result. Sёarch* The Nôvel(F)ire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Didn’t need to. My choice was made. I turned from the window and headed back to the cabin. ~ ~ ~ We got off the train a few hours later. The station was barely more than a rusted sign and a slab of concrete that used to be a platform. No one checked tickets. No announcements. Just a bored man on a bench who watched us like we were ghosts stepping off the tracks. Elliot stretched, clearly stiff from the ride. Anika adjusted her blindfold, then followed the sound of our boots with the grace of someone who could probably navigate a labyrinth with a teacup in hand. She had adapted to the blindfold really fast. By now, it probably felt like it was part of her. "We won’t stay long," I said. "Just enough to get what we need." Elliot nodded. "There’s a general store two streets down. Might be more of a trading post than a store, but it should have basics." We walked through the town. What little there was of it. Old buildings slouched under the weight of time. Signs faded into illegibility. Windows boarded or broken. But life was still here, clinging stubbornly to the skeleton of what had once been a functioning stop on a once-mighty transit line. The general store wasn’t hard to find. It had a green awning, sun-bleached and torn. The sign above it read "MOTLEY’S" in crooked metal letters that probably used to spell something else. A wind chime made of spoons rattled just above the door. Inside, the air smelled like cedar, old flour, and something faintly metallic. The store was cluttered in a way that made you think every item was a story rather than a product. Barrels of dried goods. Shelves of mismatched tools. A rack with knives that looked more ceremonial than practical. There was even a bucket labeled "Almost-Rope" filled with fraying cords. I grabbed a wire basket and began moving through the aisles. First: food. Not the fancy kind, just the useful kind. Dried meat, sealed bread packets, two jars of peanut butter that hadn’t expired yet (miraculous), and a canister of powdered tea that reminded me of Sienna. Next: first aid. Most of it was over-the-counter stuff—bandages, alcohol wipes, a couple heat packs—but I managed to snag a small, sealed trauma kit tucked behind some fishing lures. Then: tools. The plastic fruit knife wasn’t going to cut it—figuratively or literally. I found a decent hunting knife. Balanced. Simple hilt. It had that dependable look to it, like it had been through five owners and outlived them all. I tucked it into the basket. A spool of wire. An old lockpick set that was missing a pick but still usable. Two flare sticks. A packet of waterproof matches. Elliot watched me as I moved. "You shop like someone who’s about to rob a government facility," he said mildly. I gave him a sideways glance. "You say that like it’s not a regular occurrence for me." He laughed. "Fair point." Anika remained near the front, her hands brushing against surfaces, orienting herself. She didn’t say much, but I could tell she was listening. It’s not like she could do much more. I moved to the last aisle—hardware, I think. Random stuff. A car battery. Coils of copper. A blowtorch with no fuel. I stared at the shelf, basket in hand, wondering what else I needed. What I might be forgetting. What could save Evelyn, or save me, or delay the inevitable by another hour. A voice spoke behind me. "Flashlight’s good to have. You’d be amazed how often things get spooky in the dark." I turned, slowly. A man stood there, holding out a small, stubby flashlight. Hawaiian shirt. Cargo pants. A ridiculous sun hat that didn’t match the climate or the occasion. He grinned. "Probably gonna need this, boss." My hand froze mid-reach. Then I blinked. "Anthony?"

Chapter 180: Half a Coin, Half a Chance

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