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The first time Five and Vanya ran away, they were seven. Mom found them at the bus stop and they had to eat oatmeal for a week. The second time, they managed a handful of city blocks; the third, Father caught them with backpacks by the front door and kept them in isolation for a full two days.
Five’s room was close enough for him to hear Vanya crying, but far enough away that she couldn’t make out the words he yelled to her. It didn’t matter. After that, she didn’t want to run away anymore.
Vanya was thirty now, Five almost three decades her senior (though he looked thirteen). Father’s ashes had long been stomped into the ground. The world was saved. The car was fully paid for. Their bags were even in the trunk. Still, Vanya hesitated to turn the key in the ignition.
“I’ll drive,” Five offered.
“Just give me a second,” Vanya said. She glanced at the Academy in the rearview mirror, shut her eyes, and breathed deeply.
Five’s hand found hers over the parking brake.
She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Then she released the brake, started the car, and drove them away.