The moment his grip loosens, I tear free. The door flies open. I stumble through.
And I run.
Donag calls into the darkness, “You’ll be back.”
It’s late, and pouring, and pitch black, but that doesn’t stop me.
I race through the trees, hands raised to protect my eyes from the branches whipping at my skin. My bare feet skid and slide, wet leaves slick beneath me. The ground is uneven, treacherous, but I don’t care. I have to get away.
But I have no idea where I am.
No plan. No path.
Only pure, desperate instinct.
The underbrush is thick. Too thick. Whatever path I was once on is gone now, lost beneath tangled ferns and clawing branches.
I veer wildly. My heart hammers at my ribs. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I have to keep moving.
Then—a break in the trees.
A glimmer of open space.
I bolt for it, lifting my knees high over the snarled brush. My ankle screams as I land wrong, rolling sideways. Pain shoots up my leg. I hit the ground hard.
But I’m out of the woods.
The rain lashes down, drenching me instantly. Cold rivulets spill down my spine and between my breasts.
I wipe my face. It’s warm.
Tears.
I’m sobbing. Kneeling in the mud, in the dark, lost and alone.
My chest burns. I can’t catch my breath.
Calm. Down.
Poppa’s voice in my head grounds me.Ain’t no sense in cryin’ when your boots are already wet.
I’m alive. I escaped.
The cottage is behind me. No one is chasing me.
I open my senses, expecting—what? The glint of torchlight? Snarling hounds?
But there’s nothing.
Only forest sounds. Water pattering on leaves. Wind rustling branches. The moon is faint, lifeless—like the coin of ash from a dead cigarette. The same as yesterday.
A new moon.
In any other world, this would be calming.
I force air into my lungs. I need to keep it together. Another slow inhale. Then another.
I was here earlier this afternoon. Right here. Nothing was menacing about this place then. Just because it’s nighttime doesn’t mean that’s changed.
