Orla:

  Milo, run!” I screamed, my voice barely cutting through the chaos.

  My heart pounded, each beat a frantic echo of our feet slamming against the uneven ground. The soldiers' shouts grew louder, relentless in their pursuit, their armor clanking like a death knell ringing in my ears.

  “Milo, hurry!” I urged, desperation clawing at my chest. I didn't want to accept the truth—not now, not yet.

  Ahead, the ravine loomed. A gaping maw of darkness, its jagged edges illuminated by pale moonlight. The river far below roared like an angry beast, its swirling depths promising an uncertain fate. This wasn’t an escape; it was a gamble.

  Arrows whistled past, slicing through the air too close for comfort. One missed my ear by mere inches; another tore through Milo’s sleeve, a thin line of blood blooming on the fabric. He stumbled, and my stomach lurched.

  “Don’t stop!” I cried, grabbing his arm and yanking him forward.

  The ravine was close—our only chance, if it could even be called that. Behind us, the soldiers closed in. Their shouts, their weapons, the thunder of their pursuit swallowed every rational thought.

  Another volley of arrows rained down, thudding into the ground at our heels. Dirt and debris stung my legs, but we kept running. How we avoided being struck was beyond me—sheer luck, or some cruel game of fate?

  Loose stones shifted beneath my feet as I skidded to a halt at the ravine’s edge. The abyss yawned before me. My breath caught.

  Stolen story; please report.

  This was it.

  The truth I didn’t want to admit. The moment I could no longer run from.

  We were about to die.

  The river below rose up to meet me in a rushing cacophony, the soldiers’ pursuit a drumbeat to our demise. The ground beneath me crumbled, and I tipped forward.

  A strong arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me back.

  Milo’s grip was unyielding. His palm pressed against my side, steadying me just as the world tilted.

  “Careful,” he murmured. But being careful felt meaningless now. We were out of time.

  I turned to him, chest heaving. “We have to jump.”

  His gaze flicked to the abyss, then back to me. His jaw clenched. “Are you sure?”

  The question made me pause. For the first time, I saw it—raw, unguarded fear in his eyes. Milo, who had carried us through this nightmare with unwavering strength, was afraid. Seeing it stripped away made my own terror spike, sharp and blinding.

  His strength had anchored me, and now, I felt unmoored.

  Of course, I wasn’t sure. My stomach churned, every instinct screaming against what lay ahead. But what other choice did we have?

  The soldiers were nearly upon us. Their shouts a grim countdown.

  I swallowed hard and met Milo’s gaze, forcing steadiness into my voice. “We have no choice.”

  Something shifted in him. A flicker of resolve. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

  “On three, then,” he said, voice steady despite the tremor in his fingers as they tightened around mine.

  “One... two—”

  I didn’t wait for three.

  I tightened my grip and leapt into the void, dragging him with me.

  The world fell away.

  Wind howled, tearing at our clothes, our hair. The sensation of falling was all-consuming, my stomach twisting into impossible knots. Time warped, each second stretching into eternity.

  Milo gasped beside me, the sound barely reaching me over the roaring descent.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Blocked out the terror. The certainty of death. All that mattered was the feel of Milo’s hand in mine—our fingers locked in an unbreakable grip.

  We were falling. But we were falling together.

  That fragile connection made the darkness less terrifying.

  A cold mist struck first, icy needles against my skin. The roar of water surged up to meet us.

  For one heart-stopping moment, I wondered—was this really the end?

  Or were we simply delaying the inevitable?

  And then, with a final rush of wind, the world went black.

  ?Sky Mincharo