“Time to see how fast you can run, Nova.”
Abe returns seconds before the memory swallows me whole.
“This won’t take long at all,” he says. Before I can look up at him, he jabs the needle into my upper thigh.
The hiss escapes from between gritted teeth. “You could have warned me.”
“It would have hurt more if I had.” Abe wraps my knee with an ACE bandage, then offers me his hand to help me up. The morphine is already turning the pain into a dull, hazy memory as we shuffle away from the barn.
“These ceremonies are bullshit,” he says after a few awkward steps.
“What?” I stop, certain I misheard him.
He sighs, scanning the path and the barn to be sure no one’s close enough to hear. “I loved my son once. I suppose a part of me still does. But he’s off his fuckin’ rocker.”
For the first time in more than two years, a sliver of hope shines through the despair. Dangerous, aching, real hope. I grab Abe’s arms, tears lending a shimmer to his lined face. “Can you talk to him? Or…help me? Call my husband. AJ Stone. He’s a Texas Ranger. Tell him where I am. He’ll protect you.”
I knew Abe didn’t care if I followed all of Prophet’s rules, but I thought he was a believer.
His expression shutters, and he shakes his head. “That boy had me declared mentally incompetent seven years ago because he needed someone to keep his animals healthy. He won’t let me anywhere near the phones or the cars. Believe me…I’ve tried.”
The fragile sliver of hope I’d grabbed onto slices deep, then shatters into dust.
Abe starts to guide me up the gentle hill, his hand around my elbow so I don’t fall.
Tears clog my throat. I don’t want to die. This is my final fake ceremony before the end. In twenty-nine days, Prophet will drive a knife through my side. Someone will bury my body on the flock’s land, and Grace Stone will never be heard from again.
Dying will be easy. Quick. I’ll bleed out in a few minutes—or so Abe says. In my nightmares, it’s only a single flash of pain. Then vast, unending nothingness. I’m almost looking forward to it.
But disappearing forever—with no one left to remember me—terrifies me.
Chapter Twelve
Grace
As we turn the corner, Prophet races out of the house, his eyes wild. “Nova! Inside. Now. Run!”
Abe tightens his hold on my elbow. “She ain’t runnin’ anywhere, son. Her knee gave out today. She’ll walk. Slowly.”
Prophet doesn’t listen. He never does. Grabbing my free arm, he tries to drag me back to the house like some disobedient child.
But his father stands tall, fury flickering in his eyes. “You brought me here to keep the flock healthy,” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut stone. “This is how I do it. Let. Go.”
Prophet’s face twists—rage collapsing into something I never expected to see. Fear.
A low hum rises on the wind, steady and mechanical. Wrong for this place. It’s oddly familiar, but it takes me several seconds to understand what I’m hearing.
Oh, my God.
Cars.
Two black SUVs crest the ridge and glide down the dirt road winding through the fields. They don’t belong here. Prophet would never allow all that sleek precision. His world is rusted-out pickups and boxy white vans.
My heart slams into my ribs.
Outsiders. They’ll see me. They’ll help me.
Prophet barks orders, shoving me toward the house, but I wrench my arm from his grasp. Pain tears through my knee. I ignore it and force myself to take another step. I’ve been trapped in his cage for too long. Hope is twenty feet away and I’ll crawl to it if I have to.
