Penelope's POV
I heard that Zayn's Night Shade Pack had relocated to New York. If he hadn't flown back yet today, he might still be at the hotel. So I rushed back, heart pounding—only for the front desk to crush my hopes with a polite, "I'm sorry, ma'am. Mr. Kingsley checked out hours ago."
Where would he go? Did he already return to New York? Do I need to follow him there?
I counted the crumpled bills in my wallet—my entire life's savings—and with a gritted teeth, bought a one-way train ticket to New York.
It'll be okay. Just find Zayn. He'll protect me. He'll make me his Luna.
The train creaked forward, its rhythmic clattering doing little to soothe my nerves. Hours bled together as I watched the world outside transform—lush greenery giving way to industrial skeletons, daylight fading into an inky void. The further we traveled, the more reality sank in: I'd never been this far from home before.
It's fine, Penelope. You can do this.
