Zhao was hiding in a small, run-down motel. He had been indoors for two weeks now.
He mostly kept the curtains closed, allowing only a little sunlight into the room.
Every sound outside his door made him tense up. Every footstep in the hallway made his heart beat faster.
He knew he couldn't hide like this forever. With each passing hour, the small motel room felt less like a safe place and more like a prison.
Eventually, hunger got the better of him. He hadn't eaten a proper meal in almost a week. After staring at the stained ceiling for hours, he finally dragged himself out of bed. He pulled on a dark hoodie, grabbed a baseball cap, and lowered the brim over his face.
Taking a deep breath, he headed for the door.
A few minutes later, he stepped outside. The fresh air hit him immediately. He glanced around nervously, but everything looked completely normal.
Cars passed by, a woman walked her dog across the street, and a few people stood chatting outside a nearby diner.
