"I know."
"Take care of each other."
"Mom—"
"That's what I was going to say. In my letter. Take care of each other." June pulled back, cupped Briar's face in her hands. "You did. You always have. My brave girl."
She left before Briar could respond, footsteps quiet on the stairs.
Briar sat alone in the living room, surrounded by the debris of a perfect day. Allegra's hair tie on the couch arm, playing cards scattered on the coffee table, an empty halloween bowl that had held popcorn.
She didn't move for a long time.
The mark pulsed steadily, counting down to dawn.
3:11 AM.
Briar had been watching the clock for the last hour, fully dressed beneath her covers. The house groaned and settled around her, familiar night sounds that would soon be memories. Down the hall, June's door was closed but Briar doubted she was sleeping. Allegra, at least, would be dead to the world until morning.
It was time to go.
She moved through her own life collecting final things, picking up the backpack she'd hidden behind her door. She’d packed a change of clothes, her toothbrush, some cash she'd pulled from her account yesterday. Practical items for an impractical journey.
The stairs were familiar territory and didn't creak as she descended. She'd learned the quiet spots years ago, sneaking down for water during Mom's bad nights. In the kitchen, she paused. Should she leave a note? But what more was there to say?
The mark on her wrist pulsed warm but it didn't hurt. For three days it had been a constant ache, thorns pressing into her consciousness. Now it felt almost content. Satisfied.
Her car keys were on the hook by the door. She grabbed them, then froze. Allegra's purple hoodie hung on the coat rack beside them, still carrying the scent of ocean andice cream. Before she could stop herself, Briar pressed her face into the soft fabric, breathing deep.
Get it together.
Outside, the world was dark and silent. No birds yet, no traffic, just the distant sound of the ocean and her own thundering heartbeat. She didn't look back at the house. Couldn't. If she did she was worried she’d break, or worse, decide to stay, to risk him coming here to collect.
The car started too loud in the pre-dawn quiet. She held her breath, but no lights came on. No one came running out to investigate, to stop her.
She eased out into the street and waited until she had reached the end of the block to turn her headlights on. Her hands trembled against the steering wheel—not from fear, but from the weight of what she was doing. She wasn’t running, not really, she was simply going to wait. Her mother had never gone back and Eliam had never come for her. Maybe the same would hold true for her as well. So, she decided to test him and see what would happen when dawn came and she wasn't standing at the forest's edge.
The drive felt surreal. Empty streets, closed shops, traffic lights blinking yellow. Cannon Beach to Lincoln City, thirty-five minutes of increasing distance between her and everything that mattered. Each mile was deliberate, calculated. If Eliam's response to her absence was violent, if the magic lashed out, at least it wouldn't touch her home. Wouldn't touch Allegra.
The mark stayed warm but painless, occasional pulses marking time. Like a countdown. Like a heartbeat growing impatient.
The Seabreeze Motel squatted beside Highway 101, all faded turquoise paint and flickering neon. The kind of place that rented by the hour and didn't ask questions. Perfect for someone who might not survive until checkout. She'd wait here, door locked, curtains drawn, and see what dawn brought. If nothing happened then maybe she'd found a loophole.
If not, at least Allegra would never know what became of her.
The night clerk barely looked up from his phone when she entered the cramped front office. "Forty-nine plus tax. Check out's at eleven."
"I might need it later."
"Twenty extra for late check out."
She paid cash and signed the register "Jane Smith" with handwriting that wasn't quite hers. Room 23 was at the far end, facing the parking lot. Had this been a normal situation, Briar would have turned and left the moment she opened the door. The room was small and dimly lit, It reminded her of something she’d seen once in a documentary about serial killers. She took a step inside and grimaced when the carpet sank in with a soft squelching sound. The wallpaper was peeling, the bedspread stained by things she didn’t want to consider, and the air thick with old cigarette smoke despite the NO SMOKING signs.
It wasn’t ideal but it would do.
She closed the door, locking the deadbolt before sliding the chain in place. She regarded it for a moment before pushing the dingy armchair against it for good measure.
She glanced at her phone.
