Faster, Mirren. Faster.
I force my legs to carry me further, but they already feel heavy after my earlier escape. My pace is slowing. I need to find somewhere to hide. To become invisible.
Something catches my ankle and I let out a terrified scream as I tumble roughly to the ground. I kick out frantically, working to disentangle myself from whatever has a hold of me. Desperation grips me, certainty that Dark Worlder is only moments away from catching me once more and dragging me to whatever hell he has in store.
But the more I struggle, the tighter I’m ensnared. I peer through the darkness, and with no small amount of horror, realize it is not a root or vine that holds me in place. It’s ahand.One so large it swallows my entire ankle within its grasp.
I cry out, in fear and furious anger that I’ve allowed myself to be caught not once buttwice. I made it ten minutes outside the Boundary before stupidly running into capture; what chance do I stand in the rest of the Dark World?
Harlan gave his life and instead of honoring his sacrifice and saving Easton, all I’ve done is gotten myself killed. Or worse. For an absurd moment, I feel like laughing at the irony of it all.
Bright fury burns behind my eyes. Harlan didn’t even hesitate before running toward danger, sacrificing everything for a boy he barely knew. As long as I’m still breathing, is it not within me to do the same? I will give everything I have, escape ten thousand captures until there is no strength or breath left in me. I refuse to give Easton up because of my failure.
I channel all of my fire and anger and grief and pull back my arm, swinging with everything I have at whoever is connected to the hand that holds me. There is a satisfying thud, followed by a stream of curse words and the pressure on my ankle lessens.
Heartened, I kick out. A sickeningcrunchsounds as my foot makes contact with flesh and bone. My ankle finally free, I spring to my feet, but my attacker recovers enough of their senses to throw themselves at my legs. I scream as we crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
I writhe desperately, unable to tell which way is up in the fray.
“Good gods, woman,” hisses a fierce whisper. A man’s voice. “Will you quit screaming?!”
He presses a large hand over my mouth to illustrate his point. I thrash against him, trying to work my teeth around his finger to bite it, but I may as well be throwing myself against a solid brick wall for as much as it seems to faze him. “It’s a wonder you haven’t brought the entirety of the Similian Boundary men on us with the noise you’re making.”
His body is a solid mass against mine, heavy and immovable. His voice is still whispered, but its tone is deep and soothing. Casual, as if he is ruminating on the state of the weather. “We’re going to have to make a run for it, I suppose.”
I stop struggling long enough to narrow my eyes at him. He is only shapes in the darkness, sharp and angled. Who, exactly, is he planning on running away from? Between the Boundary and the dangerous men who hunt outside of it, this man’s loyalties remain dangerously unclear.
To my satisfaction, he rubs his jaw as if it pains him.Good. I hope it hurt.
“You nearly broke my jaw,” he says, but he doesn’t sound angry. Instead, he sounds faintly amused.
I don’t know how I can tell in the darkness, but I feel the moment he turns his eyes on me. As if he can somehow peer straight through the pitch black.
“If you promise not to scream again or try to punch me,” the man pauses thoughtfully. His hand still presses against my mouth, and I decide immediately that Iwillpunch him the first chance I get. “Orkickme, for that matter, I’ll let you go. Do you promise?” He presents the question innocently, the way a child might demand an agreement to a pinky promise. But it isn’t innocent. There are lives at stake. Easton’s, and I am too belatedly realizing, my own.
Seeing no other choice, I nod my head mutely.
The man must be pleased, because he lifts his hand from my mouth and proceeds to disentangle himself with surprising dexterity. The moment the weight of his oppressive limbs lightens, I jump to my feet. With another muttered curse and lightning-fast reflexes, he grabs my wrist and yanks me to the ground. I swing at him, my fist connecting with his face. Hot, agonizing pain shoots up my thumb.
“This is undoubtedly theworstrescue I’ve ever been a part of,” the Dark Worlder remarks dryly, grabbing my other wrist. “Your form was terrible, but at least you packed some power. I think I’m now going to have a black eye to go along with my bruised jaw.”
The lights of the Boundary swing toward us, bathing the forest in dancing shadows. In my panic, I must have run back toward Similis.
I stare at the man, trying to ascertain the details of his face. All I can tell is that he is tall and angular and topped by a wild mop of hair.
“Hasn’t anyone taught you to punch with your thumb out? You probably broke it,” he tells me haughtily, “which really just serves you right.”
“Servesmeright?!” I hiss indignantly.
“Well, you did promise not to punch me,” he points out.
“You tackled me to the ground and smothered my mouth and told me not to scream. Of course, I’m going to hit you!” My voice rises a few hysterical octaves, and the man shushes me fiercely.
“Are youtryingto get us caught? Because if you are, you’re doing a turn up job,” his voice drips with arrogance and I consider punching him again. Only the poor state of my thumb keeps my hands pinned to my sides. “But if you’d prefer to stay out of the hands of the Similian infantry and the Boundary hunters, we need to move in about 15 seconds. As soon as the lights move on.”
I shake my head, trying to hold on to a clear thought. Whoever this Dark Worlder is, he apparently isn’t associated with the men at the campfire, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. All Dark Worlders are dangerous. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” My body tightens in anticipation, waiting for the moment the man grabs me and forces me to move, but he only shrugs.
He opens his mouth, but before he can shoot off whatever obnoxious comment he has ready, two men appear behind him like specters. They haul the Dark Worlder to his feet and shove a gun roughly against his temple. It is the Boundary hunter, but he is no longer alone.
