The brown sedan has been tailing them since Wyoming.

Granted, there's only one highway from Boulder to Sacramento. Most of the routes have been crippled by various natural disasters, assuming it wasn't already destroyed by the war, so Fiona tries to assure herself that the sedan's also heading to the capitol for an unrelated, irrelevant reason. But no matter how much she speeds up or slows down, the brown car keeps pace and never makes any moves to pass.

Abin, who has only recently learned the concept of a car, is oblivious. He's supposed to be feeding her directions but instead, he's zoomed out of Utah and staring at the world map. No doubt noticing the blank spot of ocean over where Asia's supposed to be.

In all of her paranoia, Fiona doesn't realize that she's gripping the steering wheel and her foot is pushing on the pedal just a bit too hard. She's way over the speed limit and her heart drops to her toes when the brown sedan's lights start to flash — the sign of an undercover Compliance Order troop.

"What's wrong?" Abin asks, noticing the rove of lights.

Fiona debates speeding away, but it's not an option at all. Again, there's only one route to Sacramento and it's the only place where they can truly hide from LB. "Just stay calm," she says, more for herself than him.

She pulls over to the edge of the highway and the sedan follows. A cloned troop strides to her window languidly, the mark of a junior trooper with too much delight in his power. She reluctantly passes Abin a low-grade oxygen mask for the air toxicity. Fiona rolls her window down with dread, smiling as innocently as possible through the mask. "I'm sorry about the speeding, Officer. Lost track of the speed limit. I think we might need to take a break from driving."

Thankfully, the officer cracks a smile behind his mechsuit. "You've been driving for a while. What's the final destination?"

"Sacramento."

"And what's the reason for the trip?"

"My husband and I—" Fiona reaches for Abin's hand and laces her fingers through his. "—we're thinking of moving to the city. Wanted to scope it out." Abin's thumb strokes her palm reassuringly but it does little to assuage her nerves. She smiles despite everything. "You've been driving a long time as well. Don't they ever give you a break around here?"

The officer shakes his head with a laugh and for the first time, Fiona feels hope that they can make their way out of this unscathed. That is, until he shrugs and says, "They're being extra strict with ID'ing people with all the recent terrorist activity. So that being said, can I see some ID?"

Fiona's gripping onto Abin's hand for dear life. While she doesn't have a spot on the FBI's Most Wanted like Shailene and Ragnar do, her last name is sure to raise a few flags in the system. Plus, there's the fact that Abin time traveled from 16th century Korea which means the DMV never issued him a state license. "I'm not sure we have those on us." She smiles sheepishly, hoping for a miracle.

"We take digital scans, too," he says, genuinely trying to be helpful.

"Of course," Fiona says. She pulls the tablet from Abin and pulls up her records, pretending to be lost in her immaculately sorted files.

"Any luck, miss?"

"I'm just so bad with technology," Fiona giggles, and the high-pitched noise hurts her own ears. "Just one minute more."

"Alright," the officer says gruffly. He's no longer smiling. "It's just mandatory that we check everyone for ID."

"I totally understand," Fiona says, still swiping through nothing in particular. She racks her brain for a plan, anything at all, but she comes up empty.

"If it's easier, I can take you into the station—"

"No need—" Fiona says a little too quickly and he frowns.

"Officer Carlton," a hologram on his watch beeps. "There's a reported sighting of SF and RB on the outskirts of Utah. We need backup."

Fiona's blood runs cold, but for another reason. SF and RB, Shailene Fischer and Ragnar Blomgberg. So they are onto her. She pretends to keep scrolling through her tablet, misclicking and waiting for the files to load.

"I'm engaged with something here—"

"It's in your best interest to get there as soon as possible."

Fiona watches the inner turmoil on his face from the corner of her eye. Catching Shailene and Ragnar would be the biggest break of his career. He would be famous. But he can clearly tell there's something suspicious going on here.

After a moment, glory clearly wins out. Officer Carlton raps on the window and backs away from their car. "Have your IDs next time, okay?"

"Of course!" Fiona chirps, not moving while she watches him get back into his car and pull away. Even as multiple other cars pass by, Fiona stays unmoving.

"I think we're okay to go," Abin says softly, touching her elbow.

"Let's keep the driving for nighttime," Fiona says, trying not to vomit. Her pulse is still racing even though the sedan is long gone by now. She's been sloppy. "I think that's enough excitement for one day."

Abin looks at her with concern but he doesn't say anything. He pulls the map of Utah back. "It looks like the closest thing we have is the... Tree Hugger Bed and Breakfast."

"Tree hugging it is," Fiona says, pulling over to exit. Thankfully, no one follows.

----------------------------------------

Fiona can barely keep her eyelids open as the middle-aged woman "introduces" them to her farm. They call me Mother Marianne, she had said, while gesturing to the plants in her impossibly tall vertical farming facility. Amongst the greenery, farmhands paced the endless aisles and watered the plants. Fiona had heard about micro-communities like these before and might even have been impressed on a different day, but the stress from today's drive has her wanting to collapse into warm sheets.

"Here, we've got some strawberries," Marianne says, leading them down a nearly identical dirt path. "They no longer sell those in any grocery stores. We're probably one of the last places in the world where you can even find them." There's a beaming pride to her staggered walk. "Here are the bell peppers...the opium...the asparagus..."

"Opium?" Abin asks, unfamiliar with the term.

Marianne takes in his proper appearance and boyish features. "Not your speed? We grow marijuana, too."

"Thank you so much for the tour," Fiona says, as politely as possible. She wants to remain anonymous, the type of guests you forget within a week. "We really don't want to take up any more of your time, though. We don't mind just going to the room now."

Marianne purses her lips, looking like an overbearing aunt who's not quite done with her visit. But she takes in their rumpled appearances and softens. "At our bed and breakfast, we strongly encourage all guests to share meals together so I'll see you at dinner in an hour anyways. Ralph?"

A farmhand appears out of nowhere in an instant. "Yes?"

"Will you show this lovely couple to their room?"

"My pleasure," Ralph says, laying his rake on the ground gently. He turns to Fiona and Abin with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Follow me."

The cavernous dome of the indoor garden lays at the center of Marianne's sprawling farm estate. But the rest of the hallways are also adorned with greenery, maintained by various gardening techniques that obviously have a lot of expertise behind it. "This is beautiful," Abin says, almost as though he didn't mean to. There is a faraway, nostalgic look in his eyes, and Fiona feels a pang of sadness upon the realization that this is probably the closest thing to nature he's seen his entire time here.

Stolen story; please report.

"Yes," Ralph says, voice jovial. "Marianne was a professor of biology at University of Utah prior to the war. She is an absolute expert in the field and we are so lucky to have someone of her genius still around. She's created a family here, and I would choose them over blood any day."

Abin makes a sound of acknowledgement but she can tell that that's not how he anticipated the farmhand to react to his small comment.

How intense. After the war, a lot of people went off the rails socially so it isn't quite so rare to interact with people like this. Still, Fiona wanted to avoid as much contact as possible. "We're feeling quite unwell — would you be able to send Marianne our regards at dinner tonight?"

Ralph looks sharply at her. "What is it that you're sick with? We can have herbal teas sent to your room immediately. Marianne is an expert at brewing the perfect herbs to cure any ailment."

"Just some migraines," Fiona says cordially, trying not to offend this Mother-Marianne-super-fan. "Nothing that some sleep can't shake off."

"Nonsense," Ralph says, still smiling a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He points to a nondescript room in the dim hallway. "I'll have the tea sent to your room in ten minutes. Marianne will be expecting you at dinner in the grand foyer soon after."

"Um," Fiona says as he turns down the hallway. "Thank you."

"Are we going to dinner?" Abin whispers.

Fiona makes sure to wait for the door to close behind her. "I guess we have to."

----------------------------------------

To her credit, Marianne knows how to throw a feast.

With Ralph at the helm, the farmhands lay out the most delicious spread that Fiona's seen in years. It makes any meal at Left Behind look like rotting scraps. There are plump peaches that Fiona watched a farmhand pluck directly off a tree, and mouthwatering spreads of fluffy potatoes baked in every way possible. Butter, which has become an obsolete condiment with the mass losses of cows, melts languidly over a steaming plate of asparagus. A dozen or so guests are seated at the table, laughing jovially over darkened glasses of wine.

"This is—wow," Fiona says upon seating. The only two seats left are the ones near Marianne, who wears a knitted sweater with sewn on cats. Her wrinkled lips turn in a smile at Fiona's reaction, clearly expecting for her to say something of the sort.

"Isn't it something?" The youngest farmhand, a perky brunette no older than 16, grins at Fiona from across the table.

"Yes," Marianne answers for Fiona, lithely scooping some potatoes into her mouth. "You see, even in 2040, ingenuity can triumph in times of despair."

Knives and forks scrape against the plates as everyone mulls over her words. "What do you mean by that?" asks one of the other guests curiously, a lanky bearded man that Fiona had seen across the hall.

Marianne smiles, happy for the opportunity to continue talking. "I have been running this bed and breakfast for the past 10 years. Look at the beautiful food in front of you, Jean." She raises her glass in cheers and everyone follows. "This comes from years of engineering, of calculations, of hard labor. While everyone else watched the world crumble, I was building an empire."

Everyone cheers but Jean has a perturbed expression on his face now. "What you've done is commendable for sure, but I wouldn't say that everyone else just watched the world crumble."

Marianne leans forward in her seat, as though speaking to a child. "Then what would you say they've been doing, my dear?"

Jean frowns. "Well, there are and always have been activists, who are campaigning for the government to do better. There are scientists, trying to figure out how to reverse this problem that we've created. And there are people just trying to survive, which is hard work in itself."

Marianne tsks at him. "Just trying to survive for what? To gamble away their savings in those Azure Dragon dens, or to associate with other lowlifes? Most people don't have a home anymore, let alone a community like ours. And they only have themselves to blame."

It may not be the craziest idea someone had, but what a crazy thing actually to say out loud. Fiona looks around the room and sees a look of deference on Ralph's otherwise blank face. Perhaps something changes you when you always have sycophants at your beck and call.

But Fiona thinks of the schoolchildren she taught, of the ways that they tried to fight for a life even when they were given nothing. The ways they tried to find meaning. "I don't think that's necessarily true," she says, drawing everyone's attention. Abin grabs her hand for the act, encouragingly, like they'd discussed before dinner — like a husband might. "Some people are born into it and know nothing else. It's unfair, or maybe even a bit elitist, to assume otherwise."

Marianne trains her stare on Fiona and softens when she sees Abin's hand in hers. "See, people like you two are people I'd want to surround myself with. Cultured, dignified people, who know to appreciate something good when they see it. I can see it in you. That there's something driving you to reach for more."

Fiona's mouth dries and she tries to focus on Abin's hand in hers to steady her heartbeat. If only that were true. She has no idea what's driving her.

Jean clears his throat and everyone whips back to turn to him. Fiona notes with comfort that some seem even... angry with him for questioning Marianne. "With all due respect, I just think it's a little arrogant, don't you think? To think you're playing some God here, while everyone else suffers. And to think they all deserve their suffering?"

"No," Marianne says with a perfect smile. "I don't think."

Jean shrugs, tossing back a glistening slice of peach. "Food for thought, Marianne. Your setup is neat for sure, but everyone runs out of fertilized soil eventually. I don't know how you're currently keeping this operation going, but we all know that it'll run out eventually."

Marianne's words are tight. "Well, don't you worry about that, dear. Just enjoy the food, will you?"

Jean laughs good-naturedly and tosses another slice of peach in his mouth. "Gladly."

At that, Marianne's intense stare melts into something softer, and Fiona lets go of a breath she didn't know she was holding. The rest of dinner goes without a hiccup, and Fiona savors every moment that she can.

----------------------------------------

The rest of the guests retreat to their respective rooms after dinner and the estate gradually falls silent. In an hour or so, Fiona and Abin will make their quiet exit and leave their key on the front desk. But until then, Fiona can't help but pace the room and indulge in the stress that sits at the back of her mind every waking moment. Stress over hiding, stress for those she's hiding from, stress about the next step in the plan (or lack thereof).

"I'm going to take a walk," Fiona finally says.

Abin looks up at her from his scrolls. "I'll join. For safety."

He looks so peaceful, sitting there and mouthing the characters on the scrolls to himself. Fiona tries to imagine what 16th century Korea might have looked like, what Abin might have looked like before she brought him into all of this mess. Unable to say anything concrete, Fiona just nods in response.

They walk in silence through the bed and breakfast, which is only more beautiful at night. As quirky as Marianne might be, it's true that she's created something special and rare in this day and age. Hydroponic plants wrap the walls, cushioning them into an oasis of greenery, while an array of exotic fruits and vegetables bloom around them. Marianne somehow even bioengineered some of the flowers to glow softly in the dark, casting just the barest amount of light across Abin's cheekbones.

"This reminds me of the first date I ever went on," Fiona says before thinking. Immediately, she feels some heat spring to her cheeks and she keeps her voice even, hoping he doesn't catch any unintended implications. "It's so silly now. We were only fourteen and he took me to the garden behind our school, all so that he could kiss me. He kept accidentally biting my lip and I thought he was going to asphyxiate me with his tongue."

"That sounds thoroughly unenjoyable," Abin says, his voice a low rumble.

"It was." Fiona's face sours, thinking of the boys she used to like back then. They all ended up using her for Shailene, anyway. "I sure hope dating isn't like that in Korea."

There is a long silence as Abin considers the glowing indigo in front of him. "I wouldn't know," he says, voice neutral.

"I mean I know you were like, a monk in training or something—" Fiona rushes to say, trying not to offend him. Of course, beauty standards might be different in 16th century Korea, but Fiona is no stranger to the looks that women give Abin when they pass by. Fiona can't imagine he'd have any difficulty charming some well-mannered Korean girl, although Fiona has no idea why that gives her a rush of dread to think about.

"That's not why," Abin says softly. "A woman would be crazy to allow a bastard to court her." There is no sadness or anger in his voice. Just an acceptance, as though he is repeating fact. "It was never really in my cards."

"Oh." Fiona presses on, unsure of how to respond. "Surely there must have been some girl, even if not in an official capacity..."

Abin says nothing for a moment. Finally he mutters, "I guess there was... my brother's fiancée."

Fiona gasps in laughing disbelief and shoves Abin. "Your brother's fiancée!?"

"What?" Abin asks, genuinely confused.

"That's your sister-in-law!" Fiona can't help the giggles that bubble up in her chest. "Some would call you a homewrecker. Out of all the girls you could have liked, you liked your brother's fiancée?"

"We never acted upon anything," Abin says, the most defensive she's ever heard him. "I'm not sure she even liked me. It was just a school boy's crush."

Fiona can't wipe the grin from her face. "O-kay, in America it's pretty traitorous to go after your sister-in-law. Probably Korea, too."

Abin still has that defensive look on his face but the corner of his mouth twitches. His mussed silver hair falls against his forehead in a way that gives her the uncontrollable urge to smooth it back. "So you're telling me I wouldn't be able to shove my tongue down my sister-in-law's throat?"

She's gasping for air now as she laughs and some part of her goes warm at the realization that he's joking with her. "Oh, God, no."

"Oh, really?" Abin asks, fully smiling now. Again, Fiona's struck by the clarity of his youth despite the dark circles under his eyes and slumped look that usually accompany him. "So no walks in secret gardens with my sister-in-law?"

Fiona's having a hard time meeting his gaze now, wondering if he intended the implication behind his words now. "I suppose not." She feels warm, way too warm, and she trips slightly over a hose laying on the ground.

Abin's hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, burning against her skin. He uses his other hand to stabilize her and Fiona's all too aware of the lack of space between them. They've touched plenty on this road trip, pretending to be married and all, but they've never stood this close together before. It's different. Way different. She can see every detail of his face this close — his dilated pupils, which are the faintest of lilacs, the dark lashes that frame them, and the way that his breathing has definitely hitched in the last few seconds.

"What about this?" Abin says softly. So soft, like a dream.

Fiona's words die on her mouth when he sees his gaze drop down her lips. She's afraid to speak, to break this spell. She can feel the heat of his body against hers. The intensity of his gaze. And all she can hear is the static in her head, buzzing until it's unbearably loud. Actually, she's unable to speak.

Because that's when everything goes black.