From Ethan's perspective, Bend, Oregon felt like a quaint town longing to pretend that it was a quaint metropolis. There was no doubt that he would be able to find everything he needed to survive in a place like this, but the city alternated between housing districts that were lower end, and the really rich who built monstrous homes on tiny lots. Downtown Bend followed the major highway that ran through the city, but less than four blocks from that highway the tall buildings and commercial shops were replaced by treed parks, and homes on large green lots.

Ethan spent his first night in a park, settling himself under a large, leafy tree, falling asleep to the sound of the river. The only reason he dared such a thing was because he was one of the only people in town who knew for a fact that it was not going to rain that night, despite what the low-hanging grey clouds might say to the contrary. As he fell asleep, Ethan toyed with the idea of becoming a meteorologist with some amusement, imagining the kind of reputation he could build for being able to predict the weather with such accuracy. They did, after all, deal in probability. However, the joy of the meaningless idea was instantly squashed when he realized that he would have to go on television to do such a thing, and that would doubtless alert Bree to his location. It wasn't so much the fact that he couldn't become a meteorologist that bothered him, the idea had been pure fancy anyways, it was the fact that the fear of this FBI agent, and it was indeed fear by now, for she kept turning up at the most unlikely moments, that fear kept him from doing things. Ethan was a free spirit, and being caged by something as severe as fear nearly broke his heart. He let out a miserable sigh before rolling over, tucking his head in close to his chest and drifting off to sleep.

He settled into Bend somewhat reluctantly. The town was not a bad place, but the last two places he had allowed himself the luxury of settling into had driven him away just as he might start to consider it home. He rented a room, purchasing only those things that he needed to survive. He didn't plan on staying in the city for very long; he had been dropped off by fate, and fate had not been kind to him lately. He would stay for a week, maybe two, just long enough to heal from the physical and emotional wounds he had received from his unexpected flight from Chicago. He still favored the shoulder he had dislocated, worrying about straining it again. But that did not stop him from going for a run every morning. That same fear that kept him from settling in drove him to push his limits, and his lung capacity quickly grew until he was nearly sprinting the miles. He grew familiar with some of the back roads, the places where only residential cars ever went. He spent his nights in various hotels, never willing to spend more than a night or two in one room, no matter what kind of discount a longer stay might have earned him.

Bend advertised its river rapids with little shame, a one mile whitewater rafting stretch just a couple of miles out of town. It was a dangerous stretch of river, and it had claimed more than a couple lives in its years, but if anything that made it all the more popular. Experienced people went down it alone or in small groups. Those less familiar with navigating the water could go on a guided raft. There was an elevated platform that stretched out just over the river, only a few hundred feet from the point where most rafters would put in. Ethan found the place on one of his morning runs, and he found himself returning there with some regularity. The water below was white and frothing, and it practically enveloped the rafters who came along occasionally. He found the same comfort in the river that he had found in the ocean back in Port Townsend. The numbers practically overwhelmed him, leaving no room for extraneous thoughts. It was calming, and he mostly went in the late evening, before he had to return to his hotel room and try and sleep.

He was almost ready to move on again, to pack his few supplies and head down to the highway. He didn't need someone who would take him far, just far enough that his paranoia might let him rest again. He was going for one last run, along the route he had been running for just long enough to call himself fond of it. It took him along the river, and ended at that platform overlooking the rapids. His shirt was plastered to his back by the time he reached the overlook, and he leaned heavily on the railing, sticking his head out far to try and catch a few faint droplets from the splashing of the cold river. The water seemed particularly restless that day, the numbers easy to control. There was something flickering in the corner of his mind, something changing, but he dismissed it and turned his attention back to the swirling currents. He allowed himself the brief pleasure of altering the numbers until a swirl of water spat a floating leaf up towards him. He reached out and snagged the leaf between two fingers, a grin spreading across his face.

He released it just as suddenly when the changing number he had dismissed before suddenly forced itself into the forefront of his mind. His hands balled into fists, and his eyes widened with fear. No. It was impossible. He hadn't even known he was coming here, so how could she possibly be approaching him from behind. He turned around slowly, knowing that she had already seen him, that she was already suspicious. How had this happened?