They finally arrived in Stockton, easing off the freeway as the sun dipped lower across the skyline.
The city looked quiet in that late afternoon way, cars still moving, shops still open, but everything starting to slow.
To most, Stockton had its charm. The trees. The weather. The hum of neighborhoods still holding on. It could be beautiful.
But Damon hadn't grown up in those parts.
He didn't know the parks or the good diners or any of the safe corners.
His childhood had been spent in the alleyways, the broken sidewalks behind motels, and whatever concrete could shield him and his mother from the rain.
So for him, there wasn't nostalgia here. There were just old echoes.
Hunger. Cold. Restless nights. None of the warmth people attached to "home."
Still, it felt strange to return like this.
He was driving a blacked-out SUV worth more than every motel he'd ever stayed in.
Dressed in fitted casual wear. Champion of the world. Belt tucked into the back compartment.
