Jamie Gray's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

She waits until the woman is out of sight, then pulls out her phone to check the time. Fifty-seven minutes left. Her hands are still shaking, but not from the curse this time — from adrenaline, from the choice she just got handed. Help or exposure. Trust a stranger or stay alone. The decision should be easy. She's spent three days running because being alone is the only way to keep people safe. But standing here on this dock, feeling the way she pushed the anger down and won, she realizes something she didn't expect. She doesn't actually know if being alone is working. She's been guessing. Tracking symptoms like they're science, but they're just notes in a notebook written by someone who's never done this before. The woman saw her fight the shift and knew what it meant. That's not guessing. That's knowledge. Jamie walks back toward the diner slowly, her mind sorting through what just happened. The woman didn't flinch when Jamie's hands started shaking. Didn't back away or reach for a weapon. Just watched and waited, like she'd seen it before. Like she knew exactly how much room to give. That's the part that keeps circling back — the woman wasn't afraid. And if she knows enough not to be afraid, maybe she knows enough to teach Jamie how to stop being dangerous. The thought sits heavy in her chest, equal parts hope and terror. Because accepting help means admitting she can't do this alone. It means letting someone close enough to see her fail. Close enough to get hurt. She rounds the corner behind the diner and sees it — a poster tacked to the wooden fence near the path. Her own face staring back at her, younger than she feels now, with the words WANTED printed across the top and her full name underneath. FBI. She stops cold, her pulse spiking again. The woman must have put it there while Jamie was still on the dock. Not as a threat, but as proof. Proof that she already knows who Jamie is, where she came from, what she's running from. Proof that the choice isn't really help or exposure — it's help or consequences Jamie can't outrun. The anger flares again, hot and sharp, but this time Jamie doesn't fight it down. She lets it sit. Lets it burn. And nothing happens. Her hands stay steady. Her vision stays clear. The curse doesn't rise. She tears the poster down, folds it twice, and shoves it in her jacket pocket. Then she turns back toward the dock, toward the woman who's probably still waiting somewhere nearby. Forty-three minutes left. Enough time to find her and say yes. Enough time to stop running alone. The dock is empty when she gets back, the weathered planks creaking under her feet. No sign of the woman anywhere. Jamie's chest tightens. She scans the shoreline, the trees, the path back to town. Nothing. The hour wasn't about deciding — it was about seeing if Jamie would panic. If she'd run or fall apart. A test she just passed without knowing she was taking it. Her eyes catch movement near the dock's edge, something bright against the dark water. A coral snake, red and yellow bands stark in the fading light, coiled on the lowest plank. Jamie crouches down, watching it. Dangerous but small. Deadly if you get too close, harmless if you know what you're looking at. She understands the message. The woman isn't hiding. She's giving Jamie space to prove she can handle this —