Chapter 230 begins on a sweltering morning in Union City, with the rising sun casting long shadows over the bayou. The protagonist begins his day quietly, stepping into the early light while the town still slumbers. Along the banks of a still lake, willow trees droop heavily, their branches soaked and slick with algae, while deadwood gathers at the edges where the water kisses the sandbars. Distant cypress trees loom with a quiet majesty, creating a frame around the slow-moving waters. The atmosphere is heavy, thick with humidity and a sense of stillness that presses down on everything. These early sights calm him, even as his thoughts churn restlessly beneath the surface. He watches as dragonflies skim across the surface, their wings glinting like shards of glass, and for a moment, time stretches. Despite the tension in his journey, he takes solace in these small details—pieces of the world that seem unchanged.

From Union City, his path leads through a maze of unfamiliar towns, transferring between three different buses that move steadily across the state. With his head bent low, he keeps his profile hidden beneath the curve of his cap, avoiding eye contact and any signs of recognition. He doesn’t feel fear, only fatigue—so deep that even the sight of police cruisers nearby doesn’t raise his heartbeat. He’s crossed enough borders and dodged enough questions to know when to blend into the noise. On foot again, he walks past shopfronts without really seeing them, letting the rhythm of the city streets swallow him up. Each step is deliberate, calculated not just to avoid attention, but to buy him space to think. He enters a quiet café near a small square, selecting a corner booth where the air-conditioning barely cuts the heat. There, he sips weak coffee and stares out at a worn monument erected in memory of unnamed Confederate soldiers, wondering—briefly—what legacy his own father might have left behind.

The hours pass slowly, but he embraces the lull. Beneath the table, he fingers a folded piece of paper, on which he’s carefully mapped the next leg of his journey. Nothing is written hastily; everything has been planned to the minute. The route is indirect by design, meant to confuse anyone tracking his movements or piecing together where he might be headed. He’s set to board a morning bus at exactly 8:30 a.m., one that will circle back through Evansville—an unremarkable stop that masks his true intent. He knows the waiting game well. From there, a long layover stretches before him, over five hours of watching clocks and keeping his back to the wall. Then comes the real leg of the trip: Bus 1167, a night bus with cracked leather seats and dim lights, its passengers mostly silent.

That ride will carry him through the dark, crossing unseen county lines while most of the world sleeps. Somewhere beyond the hum of the engine and the rustle of newspapers, he’ll think about the path that brought him here. Maybe he’ll wonder if this journey is escape or penance. The destination isn’t just geographical—it’s emotional, spiritual. Every mile between him and the past feels both redemptive and hollow. He has no illusions about what waits in Alabama, but he still presses forward, driven by something he doesn’t fully understand. Maybe it’s the memory of someone lost. Maybe it’s the hope of finding someone still out there. Or maybe it’s just the sound of his own name, called out softly in his mind.

As the bus rumbles toward morning, he’ll eventually step out into the pre-dawn quiet of a new place. The air in Alabama will be warm, but not yet heavy, the way southern nights give way to fragile sunrises. He plans to arrive just as the birds begin their chorus—the cardinals, always the first to sing. That detail matters to him. It’s not superstition, exactly, but a marker, like a signpost that tells him he’s come far enough to begin again. The sky will be purple and gold, and the towns will still sleep. His feet will touch unfamiliar pavement, but something in him will settle. In this moment, he’s not just crossing state lines. He’s crossing into something that resembles hope.