Before she could finish the sentence, I was already running. When I looked back (my long hair partially blocking my sight as it blew behind me), I saw her standing in the same spot as before, motionless. I didn’t know if I could hide from her, but the only thing I could do was try.

  My lungs hurt and I could barely breathe enough air to keep going, but I wasn’t going to die in the middle of the forest—my parents would never know what happened to me. I couldn’t do that to them. My legs were still weakened and a bit shaky, and even when it seemed useless, I forced myself to keep running.

  Helena had said the effects of the drugs were supposed to be gone by now, but I didn’t feel that way. I still felt weird, as if not entirely awake. At least I had regained most of my memories, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d spent most of my life working, and worrying, and praying for a better ending than this. Right now, nothing seemed fair.

  Sharp rocks were cutting through the soles of my feet, and I was angry at every tree I ran past—since they all looked too fragile and too thin to hide me from her. And as I ran, I kept looking around for a way out of this mess. I was almost considering the possibility of screaming for help. That would do me no good unless I happened to catch the attention of someone with a gun. Would that even scare her? Maybe it would just get someone else killed.

  Still, I kept looking around, but all I saw were thin trees, the light of the sun coming through the leaves, and small movements—probably from some squirrels, or birds. None of them could help me.

  The muscles of my legs were starting to hurt, and even though I was becoming breathless from running, I had the sensation that she was about to catch up with me, although I couldn’t see her the few times I looked back.

  The wind was strong, and my hair kept blowing behind me, leaves and small branches sticking to it. Sweat was running all over my back, and I couldn’t help but think how much I wished this wasn’t happening to me.

  And then this unwanted thought crossed my mind—that maybe I deserved it. That it didn’t matter what I wanted. The only thing that mattered was who I had been. And although I knew very well that good people could go through hell and die in ways they didn’t deserve, I couldn’t help but think of all the things I had done that had brought me here.

  And even though I had never killed or robbed anyone, I could be very selfish, and I knew it—and yet I never cared to change. I had lied, also—to my parents, and to myself, and to anyone I wanted, if it benefited me. Hadn’t I? Hadn’t my own mother told me so?

  I had also tried so hard to push everyone away, just because I thought they’d get in the way of me leaving Aurora. I hadn’t wanted to get attached to anyone there. They’d just be an annoyance, and so I acted cold with everyone. I’d always pretend to be uninterested in whatever anyone had to say, and soon no one wanted to talk to me anymore. It had been a good thing, I’d convinced myself—but I had gotten so lonely. Until Emilia.

  I wouldn’t have minded leaving her behind, I had told myself. I had just met her a few months ago. She’d been nothing but a shortcut to what I wanted. I thought. But she and her family had been nice to me. Now I couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t pain me if I never saw her again.

  And then I remembered.

  Wasn’t she taken too?

  The thought made me stop cold; I almost tripped over my own feet. How could I not have remembered that before? That’s why I got kidnapped—because I saw someone taking her. Could they be the same people? Of course they were.

  They had to be.

  Had they killed her already? Had Helena?

  Anger rose up all the way to my throat. It had been her fault. It had all happened because I followed her, all because she hadn’t known how to stand up for herself. I should have stayed behind. If I’d done that, I’d be home and not here. It had all been because of her. I forced myself to believe that. It was easier that way. But it didn’t matter if I had someone to blame now. I was still in danger.

  I was all alone because of her—no, not alone. Worse. My breathing was shallow, and my head was spinning. If I had made the right choice... But I hadn’t. I messed up. I tried to take a quick look around to orient myself, but everything looked the same, and I could barely tell up from down. I was so tired, all I wanted was to lie down—but it would mean my end.

  If I could just have five more seconds to breathe...

  But then I heard quick steps heading in my direction, and I started sprinting again. I felt as if my legs were going to give in any second. I knew I couldn’t waste energy thinking about what had happened. Right now I had more important things to worry about—like surviving.

  The surrounding trees were a blur, and I prayed that Helena could never reach me. And I prayed even harder that I could get to keep my life. But then a sharp pain crossed my back, and I fell hard. I wasn’t sure what it had been, but it felt as if thunder had hit me.

  My whole body hit the ground, and the side of my face pressed against the forest floor—tiny rocks and dirt scraping and sinking into my skin. And when I tried to breathe, this immense pain took over, and I couldn’t help but scream. With my arms at my sides, I tried to sink my fingers into the damp ground and stand up, but it felt as if my whole body had been wounded and was about to fall apart.

  Blood was pouring from my side, and it was getting harder and harder to think. All there was, was this immense pain clouding my mind. From what I could feel, my right ribs were most likely shattered, but as far as I could tell, I could still move my legs.

  I can manage… I thought, but as soon as I tried to move again, the pain hit me like a ton of bricks. It was so debilitating it was blinding.

  My moaning came out distant, as if it was someone else’s but mine. I’d never heard such a noise come out of me. It was sad, and scared, and fragile. I sounded like a dying animal. And maybe I was.

  I didn’t see her come, didn’t even notice she was already next to me, until she took me by the arm and forced me on my back. I screamed again and tears flooded my eyes.

  The grass felt like needles piercing my flesh all the way to my broken bones. The smell of blood soon filled my lungs and I could see the grass drowning in red. I didn’t want to see it though. It was like watching my life slipping away, so I closed my eyes and wished I still had my pendant. I wished too that my prayers could be heard, even without it.

  I wanted to live, and I wanted to be with my parents. I wanted my life back, as imperfect and boring as it always had been.

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  I wanted to make amends.

  My whole body shivered as icy fingers tangled tightly around my throat. I closed my hands around her wrists and pulled, but she was very strong, and I could barely keep my sweaty hands steady.

  The same thing was happening again—hands wanting to take my life away. The first time I couldn’t stop it, not on my own. The pain was spreading throughout my body, and I had to remind myself that I could fight back, that it didn’t matter if she seemed stronger. I could survive her if I tried.

  I opened my eyes and saw her face through pools of sweat and black strands of wet hair. She was squeezing harder and harder, but she didn’t look sorry, or worried. She looked like she didn’t care at all.

  I thought my neck was about to break in two, and all I wanted was to call for help.

  But that was the thing, wasn’t it? At that moment, all I had was myself. Wasn’t I the one who had wanted to save them?

  Wasn’t I the one who wanted to be strong and get my parents and me a better life?

  Didn’t I believe myself capable enough? Smart enough?

  Dying would mean leaving them alone. Would they blame themselves? I thought they might. But it had been me, all me. And I needed the chance to tell them, to make it right.

  I was trying to get her hands away from me, but my arms were shaking and my hands were slowly going numb. I needed a weapon. If I had one, maybe I could hurt her enough to make her let go.

  “See beyond the pain,” she said. “If you don’t do anything, you die here.”

  But pain was all there was, and fear, and anger. So much anger. The only witnesses of my demise would be the trees and the birds, the rocks and the moss. They and the monster on top of me. Her curls fell over her face, obscuring it from the light. Still, she looked like a random, normal girl, just like me.

  Think, think. You need to do something.

  Before, she had drained the life from the forest, so maybe I could do the same—but to her. So I focused all my energy on my hands and squeezed her wrists harder. I imagined myself taking her life with my palms. I have stars in my blood, I can do it. I can save myself.

  But nothing was happening.

  But I had seen her, hadn’t I? It had happened, it was real, and I knew it—so I tried harder. Her hands remained where they were, though, as strong and relentless as before, and it felt like I was falling behind a dark, heavy curtain.

  Focus, Clover. Focus. Don’t get lost in the darkness.

  The image of the small knife I used to own came back to me (I’d tuck it into my right boot whenever I had to leave my house. I had done it every day for the past three years now—not that it’d helped me that much when I was kidnapped. I hadn’t even had the chance to use it at all).

  But it was gone.

  It was useless to think about it now, but my mind refused to move from it.

  My heart was racing, and my blood was boiling. I had the sensation that fire was running through my veins—it hurt, and yet it felt familiar, like remembering I was in a dream. It was wrong to want to stay, but if I could control it, shape it, create something new… I would try to remain in the dream as long as I could. I’d done it a few times before.

  But you’re not dreaming right now, I thought. This is real. This is happening—and you’re losing.

  Witchery, they’d call it, to try to bend reality while awake. Even during the few times I managed to control my dreams, I never dared tell my mother. I was sure she’d be ashamed, angry. I was afraid she’d drag me to the church and make me confess it to the clergy.

  “Evil. Monster. Cursed,” they’d say. I couldn’t even imagine the punishment they’d come up with, even if it had all just been in my mind.

  But what if this feeling could be the very thing that kept me alive? What if, by convincing myself I was dreaming, I could take this version of reality and change it in whatever direction I wanted?

  The pain, however, was paralyzing. It made it harder to concentrate.

  Don’t be scared, I told myself. Embrace the pain. Hold on to it—because once you can’t feel anything anymore, it means it’s the end.

  My eyelids were so heavy I couldn’t keep them open any longer, so I let them close, despite the fear that I might not be able to open them again. You don’t need to see. Or think. All you need is to feel, I reminded myself. That was what I used to do to stay aware in dreams. I had done it before. I could do it again.

  This is a dream now, I whispered to myself. And it is mine to command.

  I let my hands fall to my sides, the wet grass caressing my skin, and allowed my mind to drift where it wanted. The image of my lost knife came back—but this time, I didn’t push it away. I called for it.

  I am dreaming, and I can control it.

  I can control this.

  I can create whatever I want, I thought. I need something sharp. I need my knife.

  Then get one. Make one. I let the words flood my mind. You control this dream. Everything in it listens to you.

  Then something moved. I wasn’t sure if it had happened inside me or outside—but then it moved again. I felt it. The world rippling under me. My body shivered and bled, and I wondered how much time I had left.

  Long enough, I told myself. Just don’t let go.

  “You’re dying,” Helena said. And I wanted to scream that she was wrong, that I was fighting.

  Carefully, I stretched my fingers toward the ground and felt something warm. The earth was vibrating—it was listening. I quickly shaped a blade in my mind, one made of broken stones, dozens of them, sharp enough to cut flesh.I thought about it again and again until I felt it forming in my hand. It was rough, wet, and cold.

  And then—it was real.

  I curled my fingers tight around the handle. I opened my eyes and stabbed her. Helena cried out and let go, stumbling back. Before I could strike again, she had moved away.

  It had truly happened. I was relieved to see her far from me, but I still couldn’t breathe. My throat was too swollen, too injured from all the people who had tried to kill me. All I could do was scratch at the ground, dirt and moss packing under my nails as tears mixed with blood.

  “Stay calm,” Helena said. I tried to ignore the pain, but it was too much. Thinking hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt.

  “You’ll recover faster if you let yourself rest. I won’t attack you again,” she added, blood pouring from her arm. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t breathe right away. You’ll be fine soon.”

  I wanted to yell at her—or run. Or both. But I had no strength left. So I stayed where I was. Not because I trusted her, but because I had no choice.

  The forest stilled, as if it too had grown tired of fighting. I closed my eyes and waited for the cold air to wrap around me. Everything now felt unreal—or maybe more real than it ever had. I wasn’t sure which.

  The loudest sound was my heartbeat, wild and relentless in my ears. I could barely hear anything else. I opened my eyes and stared at her, the knife still clenched in my hand.

  Little by little, I could breathe again. My throat burned, but I was recovering like she said I would. The pain in my back eased too, and I prayed I’d make it through. Blood still flowed from my side, soaking the grey gown I wore.

  Maybe I could cut it into strips, I thought, use it to bandage the wound. But it wouldn’t be enough to fix broken ribs.

  “I’m glad you made it,” Helena said, her voice strangely gentle, as if she hadn’t just tried to kill me—and I her.

  “Like I mentioned, not all of you survive. But this means you can help me.”

  If I had no intention of helping her before, I certainly didn’t now.

  As I lay on the grass, I wondered if she knew Emilia—if she knew where she was.

  Part of me wanted to ask. But part of me was still angry. I had been the one who went after her, and still, I blamed her. It was a stupid feeling. I knew it was unfair. But it wouldn’t go away.

  I was finally able to take a deep breath after what felt like forever, and I let myself drift into a calm nothing. Hundreds of thoughts fought for space in my head, but I pushed them away. If I let them win, I’d start crying again—and I wouldn’t do that, not in front of Helena. I had shown enough weakness.

  “I should go,” she said a moment later. I wished she would.

  “You should keep resting. Once you feel better, hide like I told you. I’ll find you later. And remember—don’t let anyone see you. I will know.”

  And with that, she walked away.

  No matter how hard I tried, I started crying the moment she was gone. I sobbed and screamed and cursed until I drained the last bit of energy I had.

  I winced as I tried to stand. Every step hurt. But I couldn’t stay there—couldn’t sit in the scent of my own blood. I had to leave.

  I thought I might die after all. But I didn’t.

  I just walked—without direction.

  I only wanted to leave everything behind.

  As if distance alone could undo what had just happened.

  So I stood up. And I left. Forgetting the knife behind.