Chapter 6
The Reluctant Oracle
Hiding out, they cross paths with Cyrus, a jaded ex-robber. He sees their ambition and recklessness, offering cryptic advice and a harsh glimpse into the life they're building.
The air in the motel room hung thick with the stale scent of cigarette smoke and cheap disinfectant, a familiar perfume to Christopher and Felicia these days. Outside, the relentless hum of traffic from the interstate was a constant reminder of the world they were both a part of and apart from. Chicago had been too close, the sirens too sharp, the faces in the crowd too many. They’d fled south, chasing the sun and the anonymity of a nondescript town nestled somewhere in the heartland, a place where they hoped their names, or rather, the phantom names they’d conjured, would carry no weight.
Felicia traced the rim of a chipped coffee mug, her gaze lost somewhere in the peeling floral wallpaper. Her usual spark seemed dimmed, a flicker against the encroaching shadows of their audacious plan. Christopher, sprawled on the lumpy bed, watched her, a knot of unease tightening in his chest. He’d seen that look before, the one that spoke of a quiet weariness, a flicker of doubt that he ruthlessly suppressed in himself and tried to extinguish in her.
“Another cup of that sludge?” he asked, his voice a little too loud in the confined space.
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