Chapter 8 - The Boy in the Worn Jacket
The crisp autumn air had begun to settle over Pine Ridge when a bus from the city dropped off an unexpected passenger. He was an eight-year-old boy with a pale complexion and messy, light brown hair. He wore a jacket that was two sizes too big and scuffed, worn-out sneakers.
He had no luggage. In his small, trembling hands, he clutched only two things: a faded old photograph and a small, meticulously folded piece of paper. His large hazel eyes darted around the unfamiliar town, wide with a mixture of fear and desperate hope.
He didn't wander aimlessly. He had a destination in mind, pieced together from whispered conversations and old letters he wasn't supposed to read. He walked past the hardware store, past the small post office, and stopped squarely in front of the Crossroads Diner. Inside, the roar of laughter and clinking glasses spilled out into the street. Taking a deep breath to steady his small shoulders, the boy pushed the heavy glass door open and stepped inside.
