Behind me, more shouts. Closer now.
"Miss Faulks! Stop!"
"She went toward the woods!"
"Get the lights!"
The underbrush grabs at my ankles. Roots snake across the path, invisible in the darkness. I stumble and catch myself on a tree trunk. The bark scrapes my palms raw.
Keep moving. Just keep moving.
Flashlight beams cut through the trees behind me—white, stark, searching. They sweep back and forth like prison spotlights.
I veer left. Then right. Trying to lose them in the maze of trees.
But the Faulks estate is vast, and I've never been this deep in the woods. The darkness is disorienting. Every tree looks the same. Every shadow could hide pursuit.
My breath comes in ragged gasps. My legs burn. A stitch forms in my side, sharp as a knife.
An owl shrieks somewhere close. The sound is primal, predatory. I nearly scream.
The voices behind me grow louder. They're gaining.
How? How are they so fast?
Then I realize—they know these woods. Patrol them nightly. While I'm running blind, they're following familiar paths.
I push harder, legs pumping, arms swinging. My foot catches on something—a root, a rock, doesn't matter. I'm falling.
The ground rushes up. I hit hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs. Leaves and dirt fill my mouth. The taste of earth and decay.
Get up. Get up NOW.
I scramble to my feet. Take two steps.
The ground disappears.
For a sickening moment, I'm airborne. Then I'm tumbling, rolling, the world spinning in a blur of dark and darker. Trees, sky, ground—impossible to tell which is which.
Branches claw at me. Rocks slam into my ribs, my shoulders, my head. Pain explodes in bright stars.
I land at the bottom of a ravine with a bone-jarring thud. For a long moment, I can't breathe. Can't move. Can only lie there, stunned and aching.
Blood fills my mouth. I've bitten my tongue. Or split my lip. Maybe both.
My head throbs. When I touch my temple, my fingers come away wet and dark.
Have to move. Have to?—
A light finds me. Bright. Blinding.
"I've found her!" Male voice. Triumphant. "Over here!"
No. No no no.
I try to stand. My legs don't work right. Everything tilts.
Hands grab me—rough, efficient. Pulling me upright.
