PROLOGUE

Rain poured hard, and lightning flashed quickly just outside the car, but what could she do? Seven year old Tyron was home by himself. Then she decided to stop in the nearest restaurant until it was safe to drive just then she saw a big red glowing sign that said freddy's burgers, but when she started to pull in she saw another sign that said DO NOT ENTER. She was thinking about how they should have made this sign glow to when a red convertible came charging toward her she tried backing up, but hit the car behind her, then the convertible hit her, and everything went dark.

Meanwhile little Tyron was at home alone. A few minutes ago the power went out, and now he was turning on the battery powered radio. As it usual started on the news, he was about to switch it to a different station when the reporter started talking about a car accident, scared he hurried to change the station, but before he could the reporter said who died and his mother was on the list. For a few moments he sat there thinking. That was it he was an orphan, he knew that now, his dad had died when he was little and now his mother was dead. After a while he fled the house and nobody knew what happened to him.

He ran, feet pounding against the ground, he had no idea where he was going, but he was going there fast. He only brought two things with him, his dad’s old fishing rod and his others sewing kit. He lived off of this for awhile, hiding in the woods as much as possible, eating fish and sewing clothes from what he found dumpster diving, those few times he went into a town. He avoided people as much as he could, even years after the accident he was still afraid that someone would turn him over to the state. So, he learned to. Live alone, always traveling, always hoping there was a chance his father was still alive. He was never told how he died, making his death harder to believe then his mothers…

Rain hammered the rooftop of the abandoned cabin like it owed the weather money. Tyron sat by the weak glow of a lantern, stitching together something that wanted very badly to not become clothing. His expression was grim, focused, and slightly offended by the fabric’s refusal to cooperate.

“Why are you making that face?” a voice said from behind him.

Tyron didn’t jump. He just stabbed the needle a little too aggressively into the cloth. “Because this thing is fighting for its life,” he said. “And honestly it might win.”

The stranger stepped fully inside, soaked head to toe. He looked like trouble, or at the very least someone who cheated at cards. “I’ve been watching you,” the stranger said.

“Oh good,” Tyron replied. “I love hearing that from mysterious men in the woods.”

“No need to get snippy,” the stranger said as he wrung rainwater from his jacket. “You’re pretty hard to find, kid.”

Tyron set the sewing kit down. “Yeah well, that’s the point. People tend to look at me and think things like ‘state custody’ and ‘please stop running.’”

The man chuckled, which Tyron did not appreciate. “Relax. I’m not here to drag you anywhere. I’m here because you’re old enough now to hear something important.”

Tyron narrowed his eyes. “If you tell me you’re my long-lost uncle I’m kicking you back into the rain.”

“Not your uncle,” the man said. “But I did know your father.”

Tyron froze. Every muscle locked. The storm outside paused just long enough to listen in.

“You knew him?” he said, trying and failing to sound unimpressed.

“Knew him,” the man said, leaning against the wall with the confidence of someone who absolutely should not be leaning against anything. “Worked with him too.”

“Doing what?” Tyron asked.

“Oh,” the man said casually, “nothing dramatic. Just something simple. Saving lives, dodging bullets, fighting monsters, that kind of thing.”

Tyron blinked. “So my dad was… what? A fisherman with a side hustle in heroics?”

The man grinned. “Call it whatever you want, kid. But he didn’t die the way you were told. And he sure as hell didn’t stay dead.”

Tyron’s heart thudded against his ribs. “If this is a joke—”

“It’s not,” the man said, stepping closer. “He’s out there. And if you want answers, you’re going to have to stop hiding from the world and start chasing it.”

Tyron stared back, pulse roaring louder than the thunder. “And what if I don’t trust you?”

“Then you’re smarter than most people your age,” the man said. “But trust me or not, your dad’s waiting.”

Tyron stood slowly, gripping the fishing rod like it was a sword and a memory all at once.

“Fine,” he said. “You lead the way. But if you’re lying, I’m sewing your jacket sleeves shut while you’re still wearing it.”

The man smirked. “Fair enough.”

And together they stepped out into the storm, lightning carving their shadows into the world as they walked into a future that refused to stay buried.