Patch strug­gled to find rest after the pre­ced­ing events, feel­ing as if each moment on the bus stretched into eter­ni­ty, with an emp­ty stom­ach as his com­pan­ion. Dur­ing a stop at Rowan Bridge, a woman caught his gaze, leav­ing him momen­tar­i­ly unnerved; he almost con­sid­ered dis­em­bark­ing in Birm­ing­ham. How­ev­er, he man­aged to stay com­posed, choos­ing to wait alone through the hour, the warmth of the night lin­ger­ing as the dri­ver kept the win­dow down.

As dawn approached, Patch gath­ered his small bag and exit­ed the bus into the fresh Alaba­ma air. The ear­ly morn­ing ambiance was punc­tu­at­ed by the slow move­ment of cars until they van­ished over a near­by hill, engulfed in semi-dark­ness, with a full moon still vis­i­ble as the sun pre­pared to rise in the east.

Mont­gomery, the riv­er city, greet­ed him with its white dome of the state capi­tol stand­ing promi­nent­ly. The streets soon filled with the bustling sounds of morn­ing work­ers as Patch took his final bus ride from the city. Lean­ing back against the seat rest, he aimed to catch a moment of peace. Even­tu­al­ly, he stepped off the bus, retrieved his map, and inhaled deeply as he set out to cov­er the remain­ing dis­tance on foot.

Upon reach­ing his des­ti­na­tion, he paused to touch the let­ter­ing on the sign: “Grace Falls.” This moment felt sig­nif­i­cant, bridg­ing all his pre­vi­ous expe­ri­ences with the antic­i­pa­tion of what lay ahead.