The Sound of Engines

The last of the oatmeal was gone. Her tray wiped clean, coffee drained, napkin folded into a perfect square. Rue stood slowly, the legs of her chair scraping softly against the tile. She kept her eyes down, sliding her backpack over her shoulder and pressing the strap tight against her chest. She hesitated for just a second. Across the room, Pastor Elijah Boone was bent beside a man whose hand trembled too badly to feed himself. The pastor didn’t speak loudly or draw attention—he just steadied the spoon, guiding it gently with the kind of quiet care most people rushed past.

When he straightened, his eyes met Rue’s across the room. She didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Just gave the smallest nod, her hand brushing her chest in a motion as soft and deliberate as a whisper. A silent thank you. A goodbye. Pastor Boone tipped his head, smile small but warm. He didn’t need words either. She turned and left the warmth behind. Outside, the cold hit harder than before. The kind that slipped under her sleeves and scraped her skin raw. Rue tugged her hood lower, bracing against the wind as she stepped onto the sidewalk and turned east. The streets were alive now.

Steam puffed up from manholes and storm drains. Early-morning delivery trucks lined the curbs, hazard lights blinking in soft rhythm. A bus hissed at the corner. Children hurried beside tired-looking parents, backpacks bouncing. Someone cursed at a broken car horn across the street. The noise didn’t touch her. It never did. She walked fast, head down, her shoes barely making a sound against the wet pavement. She knew every shortcut by heart—the back alleys, the quieter crosswalks, the doorways to avoid. She passed the closed pawn shop with the busted security gate, the flower vendor who always arrived late on Mondays, and the old woman who sold incense on the corner near 3rd Avenue.

She had forty-three minutes when she left. Now she had thirty-two. Plenty of time, if she kept her pace. A block later, her ears caught the sound.

Low.

Rumbling.

Engines.

Not a car. Not one motorcycle either. Several. They echoed off the buildings like thunder—loud enough to rattle in her chest. She didn’t stop. But she did glance down the intersecting street just long enough to catch a glimpse. Five bikes. Maybe six. All black and chrome. The riders were leather-clad shadows, helmets dark, jackets patch-covered. They rode in a tight formation, moving like a unit. Controlled. Loud, but purposeful. She turned away before they got too close. Rue didn’t like motorcycles.

The sound always reminded her of too many things at once—too fast, too loud, too unpredictable. It made her heartbeat quicken in her throat even if no one else noticed. They passed behind her, roaring past the intersection, heading south. She didn’t look again. Her body tensed until the sound faded back into the usual city hum. And then she kept walking. The East Village was waking now. Bakeries were unlocking their doors, warm lights flickering to life behind fogged windows. The smell of coffee beans and fresh bread followed her down the block. A cyclist zipped past too close to the curb, and a pigeon scattered from her path with a flutter of gray wings. She knew every step of this route. The cracked sidewalk between the old hardware store and the deli with the tilted sign. The mural of a moon on the wall near the crosswalk. The soft clink of wind chimes outside the crystal shop that never opened before noon. Then finally—The corner she loved most.

Tucked between a faded florist shop and a shuttered antique store stood a narrow storefront with ivy creeping up the brick and a crooked wooden sign hanging above the door. The letters carved into it read:

THE QUIET NEST

The display window was small, fogged at the edges from the morning chill. Inside it, stacks of old books sat like sleeping cats. A hand-lettered sign in the center of the glass read: Don’t forget to be gentle today. Her chest loosened the moment she saw it. She stepped up to the door and reached into her pocket for the spare key—the one given to her years ago with no questions asked. She unlocked it with practiced ease and slipped inside before anyone else on the street could take notice. And just like that,

she was home.

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