I keep going just to be sure, because now he might have a gun—mygun—if he didn’t already.
The treeline seems to break up ahead and I see the stars over the canopies above me. Rushing water sounds from somewhere, but behind me, there’s the distinct pattern of sprinting footsteps, and I pick up speed, ducking my head and running faster. I need to turn, throw him off my trail, but it looks like the impenetrable dark on either side of me and that knowing apprehension balls up inside of my gut.
This place is dangerous.
Lele says I’m paranoid, but I don’t think I would’ve survived Lynx if I didn’t listen to my instincts. Knowing when to give in, knowing when to push harder.
The footsteps get closer.
I don’t dare look.
I dip my chin and pump my legs faster, and faster, grateful my Oxfords are tailored for my feet. It doesn’t mean I won’t have a blister tomorrow but I’ll take that over tripping and dying.
The footfalls are too close now.
I want to look but I won’t.
I refuse.
The treeline is empty ahead and once I get to the clearing, I can duck back in again and?—
“You idiot.”I hear his voice seconds before his body lands on top of me, knocking me straight to the ground, right outside of the thick and wild forest.
The sound of rushing water grows louder.
The air drops a few degrees.
My fingernails flex in the dirt. I notice it’s damp. And as I pick my head up a little, my body aching and weighed down withhim,I see it.
The mountain range on the other side of the dropoff.
If I would have kept running seconds more, I would have flown over the side of it, and I would have died. I can’t see the water from here, but it sounds like it’sfarbelow. I can feel it roaring beneath my body.
He shoves my head back down with the palm of his hand and presses my face to the dirt. He’s so heavy it’s hard to breathe, and anger and sick gratitude blend beneath my skin.
“Why are you following me?” He speaks against my ear.
“Who said I was?” I’m grateful my voice doesn’t shake despite the fact it’s muffled.
“Don’t,”he warns.
Silence between both of us. Then I decide to make a play.
“We both know I can’t run from you. So get off me, let me face you, and we’ll talk.”
He laughs and I feel it in my bones. “Talk.” He scoffs, enunciating the word like it disgusts him. “Like we did before?”
My blood grows warm.
He remembers. It would be insane if he didn’t, but somehow, the confirmation makes me feel better, not worse.
I don’t push on the memory. “What am I going to do?” I counter instead. “Jump over the cliff?”
“I might push you,” he warns, and it doesn’t sound like an idle threat.
“Then let me take the chance.”
“Do you think I trust a fuckingFlynn?”He snarls the word against my ear.
