Chapter 4: Paper Wings
It started with a map.
A crumpled, folded thing Ian had found buried in a drawer in the school library — an old tourist trail that led into the forested outskirts of town, past waterfalls and abandoned cabins no one really visited anymore. It wasn't much, but to Ian and Avrielle, it looked like freedom.
They spread the map on the hood of Ian's car in the school parking lot, hiding in the far corner where the cameras didn't reach.
"Cabin number 3," Ian said, pointing to a tiny red dot near a winding trail. "This place used to be part of a nature camp. I looked it up. It's empty. Hasn't been used in years."
Avrielle leaned over, her eyes scanning the trail. "How far from town?"
"Two hours if we hike. There's an old bus route that stops about four miles out. We can take that and walk the rest."
She traced the route with her finger. "You're sure we won't get caught?"
He looked up at her, eyes steady. "We're not running forever, Av. Just for a few days. Think of it as... breathing room."
"Breathing room," she repeated, testing the words on her tongue. They sounded sweet. Soft. Like something she hadn't tasted in years.
They sat on the hood of the car, watching the sunset streak the sky in orange and gold. Around them, the world kept turning — cars driving by, birds calling from the trees — but here, they were still.
"I packed a duffel," Ian said. "Water bottles, flashlights, protein bars. A pocketknife, in case we need to break into the cabin."
Avrielle raised an eyebrow. "Breaking and entering. Nice."
He smirked. "Technically it's abandoned. So... urban exploration?"
"You've clearly been thinking about this for a while."
"I have," he admitted. "Every time I sit in another meeting or hear my dad talk about legacy, I think — what if I just left for a while? Just... to see what I'd feel like without all the weight."
She was quiet for a moment. "I want that too. Just to feel like me, not the version of me they keep building like some corporate Frankenstein."
Ian chuckled. "So we do it. Friday night. You tell your mom you're at Nessa's for the weekend. I'll tell mine I'm crashing at Carter's."
"And phones?"
"We leave them at home. No GPS. No calls. No digital trail."
Avrielle hesitated. "That part makes me nervous."
"We'll leave a note," Ian said softly. "Not saying where we're going, just that we're safe. That we need time. They'll freak out, yeah, but they'll survive."
She chewed on her lip. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'm in," she said, eyes sparking. "Let's disappear."
---
Friday crept up like a secret.
Avrielle packed late Thursday night, quietly stuffing clothes into a small backpack, along with a photo of her and Ian at a fair last year — both of them smiling, faces sticky with cotton candy, the Ferris wheel glowing behind them. She didn't know why she packed it. Maybe to remind herself this escape wasn't just rebellion. It was about who they were when no one else was watching.
When Friday arrived, she played her role perfectly — hugged her mom, kissed her cheek, said she'd be with Nessa the whole weekend.
Natalie barely looked up from her laptop. "Good. Don't forget to send pictures. The board will be expecting to see you at Sunday's brunch."
Avrielle just smiled and walked out the door.
Ian's goodbye was quieter. His parents were already out at a business mixer, trusting their son to be exactly what they'd raised him to be — responsible, obedient, careful.
He left his phone on his desk, along with a note:
Don't worry. I'm safe. I just need some time to think. Please don't send the police. I'll be back soon.
And with that, he slipped into the dark, duffel slung over his shoulder.
They met at the bus stop just after dusk, both in hoodies and sneakers, their eyes gleaming with equal parts excitement and fear.
"You sure about this?" Ian asked.
"No," Avrielle said, grinning. "But that's what makes it real."
The bus was half-empty, mostly old hikers and quiet locals. No one looked at them twice. As they sat near the back, Avrielle rested her head on Ian's shoulder, listening to the hum of the engine and the world falling away behind them.
"You know what I'm most excited about?" she whispered.
"What?"
"Waking up and not having anyone tell me what to wear, what to say, who to be."
Ian nodded. "Yeah."
They reached the trailhead just as the sky turned navy blue. The air was cool, scented with pine and damp earth. They started the hike in silence, their footsteps crunching softly over leaves and twigs.
It took them almost an hour to find the cabin — hidden behind tall trees, half-covered in vines. The wooden boards creaked as Ian pushed the door open. Inside, it was dark and dusty, but intact. A small fireplace, a couple of bunk beds, a broken lantern.
"Home sweet home," Ian said, flicking his flashlight across the room.
Avrielle laughed. "It's kind of perfect."
They unpacked, laid out sleeping bags, and shared a sandwich Ian had brought. As the night deepened, the forest outside grew quieter. The silence was thick, but peaceful.
Sitting by the cold fireplace, Avrielle hugged her knees. "Do you think they'll hate us for this?"
Ian poked at the dust with a stick. "Maybe. But they'll understand. Eventually."
"And if they don't?"
"Then we'll deal with it. Together."
She looked at him, her eyes soft. "Thank you. For choosing to do this with me."
He smiled, reaching out to brush a leaf from her hair. "You're the only person I'd ever do this with."
Outside, a breeze rustled the trees. Inside, two kids — still too young, but tired of being forced to grow up too fast — found peace in the stolen hours they'd carved out for themselves.
They didn't know what the morning would bring. Maybe anger. Maybe consequences. But tonight, they weren't heirs or images or names on a boardroom paper.
They were just Ian and Avrielle.
And for now, that was more than enough.
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