It was nothing like the establishment of publicly-available truth that Jane had imagined.

They were seated in a one-room office, the artificial fabric of the seats hissing beneath them. Dust freely floated through the air, dislodged from the furniture by a draft from the ceiling-mounted fans above them. The journalist was a severely overweight man clothed in the most awful shade of green, a pair of thick-framed glasses atop his nose.

Ryder was seated next to Jane, elbows digging into the armrests of his chair, posture intense. It was clear that recounting his father’s crimes to a stranger made him intensely uncomfortable.

The journalist was looking between them like a man that couldn’t believe his eyes. He adjusted his glasses, peering at the yellow notepad between his fingers.

“Let me get this straight, Mr. Jackson-”

“Ryder. Just call me Ryder,” the teenage boy interrupted. He frowned in distaste at his own last name.

“…right. Ryder. You’re telling me that your dad, the philanthropist mayor, the man who built half of down town, is actually the boss of an extensive criminal organization?” the journalist’s voice was positively electrified with sarcasm, each word enunciated as if he were speaking to a child.

Jane could see Ryder was growing more and more annoyed by the second, so she stepped in. “Look, mister. Why would he be lying about his own father? We know how serious this sounds.”

The man huffed, throwing the notepad onto his desk. “I don’t believe you two because it’s his father.”

“Why would he lie about his dad if he was such a good person? Wouldn’t that make his own son want to protect him instead?” Jane countered.

The journalist shook his head, completely ignoring her argument. “You should know better than to make up lies with nothing to back them up. You could get in all kinds of trouble.”

No, Jane thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe them. There was something else here. The same instinct, buried in the back of her mind, had come alive. The same instinct that had served her so well this far. It was warning her.

The journalist was nervous. She could see it in the set of his frame, in the way he so vehemently argued against Ryder, and because his notepad had no notes. The yellow paper was entirely blank, untouched by the journalist’s pen. He never had any intentions of running their story in the first place.

Beside her, Ryder’s frown intensified. “I don’t get it. Why don’t you want to report on this?”

Because Jackson had gotten to him first, Jane realized. The man probably had his fingers in every public media outlet based in Alexander.

“Because he’s afraid,” Jane answered. “Afraid of your dad.”

Realizing the act was not working, the journalist looked over his shoulder, ensuring nobody else in the tiny office was listening. “Okay, okay. Quiet, alright? You never know who’s in his pocket.”

Jane nodded, leaning over the desk to hear him better. He was speaking so softly that the sound of the fans overhead nearly drowned him out.

“Everybody knows about Jackson, alright? It’s not exactly a well-kept secret. There’s rumors everywhere. But he makes sure nobody has enough tangible proof to paint the whole picture. Otherwise…” His thumb swiped across his neck, pantomiming a violent form of death.

Despite the explanation, Ryder only seemed angrier. “You’re supposed to be a reporter. Isn’t this what you guys do? Fight for the truth?”

The journalist raised both palms upwards. “I got a family, man.”

Jane found herself sympathizing. She’d had a family once, too. She knew what it was like to lose it.

“So where do we go? Who can help us?” Ryder’s questions weren’t even directed at the journalist anymore. Jane wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but she silently echoed his questions all the same.

“I don’t know,” the journalist said. “But the fact that you’re actually telling people this stuff? Nobody in this town will help you. You’re all on your own.”

Ryder’s jaw tightened, and he ran his fingers through his hair. His shoulders sagged in his seat.

Jane reached beneath the desk, squeezing Ryder’s hand. “We’ll find another way, Ryder.”

Gently, he untangled his fingers from her, and rose from his seat. With a glare, he spoke down to the journalist. “The reason my father became so powerful is because people like you did nothing to stop him.”

The journalist shrugged again, carefully avoiding Ryder’s eyes. The teenage boy sighed and, wordlessly, left the office.

The metal of the van rang hollow as Ryder slammed one fist into it, immediately wincing as pain shot up his knuckles. Jane watched him with concern, unsure of what to say.

“We’re stuck, Jane,” he said. “Can’t leave town because he’ll find us, but we can’t stay either.”

Jane had no comforting words for him, because she knew he was right.

She reached out and laid one hand against his back. It seemed to calm him, somewhat. “I know. But we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Ryder turned, massaging both temples. “What else is there to figure out? We’re out of moves. We lost the data, and even if we had it, nobody here will help us. We don’t even have enough money for dinner.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane could make out the wide glass windows of the convenience store. The rainclouds were swirling above them, threatening to pour at any moment.

The expression on Ryder’s face was one that Jane had never encountered before. Even on their first date, talking about his mother, there had always been a spark of optimism in his eyes. Now, they held only frustration. Jane dearly wished to bring it back. She was out of ideas, but at least  there was one thing she could fix.

“Stay in the van, I’ll be right back,” she said.

“Where are you going?” Ryder asked, curiously.

“Just trust me.” She did not even need to say it. They had thrown their whole lives away. All they had was each other; trusting her was all Ryder could do.

He glanced at the sky, the rumble of distant thunder rolling across it. “Okay. Make it quick.”

Jane nodded.

It was the same convenience store she had visited twice before. The pale lights within seemed even dimmer during the daytime. Strangely, both visits had been with either member of the Allyson family.

The same bored-looking cashier leaned over the counter with the same handheld gaming console, not even bothering to glance up as Jane entered. At this distance, she could just barely make out the name on his tag. Jonas.

She smiled. This would be easy.

As if in waiting, the voice in her head spoke up. She shouldn’t be happy about finding this so easy. What kind of girl has she become, it asked, if she could delight in getting away with stealing? Isn’t stealing the entire reason she was in this mess in the first place? Albeit secrets, instead of food?

It was easy enough to ignore the voice as she stuffed bags of chips and candy-bars in the oversized pockets of Ryder’s jacket. Non-perishable food that required no cooking or eating utensils.

It was not so easy to ignore the voice, however, as her quiet perusing lead her to the liquor aisle.

A squat bottle, filled with a cloudy brown liquid, stared her right in the face. Her chest hurt at the mere sight of it, memories of the last time she’d seen it welling up within her.

It was her mom’s favorite drink. Cheap, effective, and small enough to fit in a purse. Or a jacket pocket, if Jane were so inclined.

Outside the store, the quiet hum of the rain began as droplets struck the pavement.

Idiotic Jane, the voice muttered. Idiotic, paranoid, cruel Jane. The last moments she’d had with her mother consisted of Jane completely ignoring her mother’s attempts to be a better woman. Moments punctuated by Jane’s lack of faith in her, or anyone, even. It was her chronic distrust in all people that had lead her down this path, and yet the one person she had trusted, in the end, turned out to-

“Shut up!” Jane shouted, eyes widening as she realized she’d said it out loud. Her hands were balled into fists at her side, shaking with emotion.

The voice within her mind seemed amused at her reaction, as if that was what it had wanted all along.

In desperation, she reached out, and pocketed the amber bottle. She just wanted the voice to go away.

The bored clerk had poked his head around the corner of the aisle, staring at her with curiosity.

Keeping her eyes to the floor, Jane ignored him as she strode out of the store, pockets laden with her stolen goods.