A trudge of water sloshes. Like a boot is coming free from it.
Then a stumble.
The accent is undeniable. Canadian. And female.
It’s hoarse, followed by coughs, the same that are nesting in my chest, choking my breaths.
The wading is closing in. Dragging closer, step after step.
I’m as frozen as my prickled flesh, listening to every scrape of bark crunching in the dark.
I need to know who’s coming this way.
But I don’t know if I should call out. Or light my torch.
Samick took it. He picked the torch up from the foliage, then pocketed it.
I don’t know if he returned it to my bag…
My bag.
The one weighing down on me, the strap cutting into my shoulder, it’s not mine.
It’s the satchel.
Samick’s bag.
The breath comes choppy from my lips.
And my mind lurches.
I grabbed it when Samick was dragging me to the circle of fae in the middle of the camp and the tidal wave was reaching above the trees.
I tried to get my own bag—but I got the satchel instead, and that’s not a total loss. Turns out, I grabbed everything I need.
The food supplies. The map. Maybe the torch.
The radio…
The fucking CB radio.
Anxiety trickles through me. Because my mind jumps to running.
‘You not see friend again.’
I…
‘Ísalf choose.’
I don’t want to leave. A part of me fights to stay. To call out for Samick. To follow him through the blackout and to his world.
But if I do, how can I know if I’ll see Bee again?
‘Samick keep you.’
Mika could be lying to me. Toying with me.
But what if she’s not?
