No.
No sane person would; not even with black-clothed monsters chasing them.
Unless, of course, they had no other choice.
I toss a look over my shoulder before carefully making my way a foot down the muddy slope. I reach out for his hand, barely grasping it, and yelp as he pulls me onto the rock, my body slamming into his with a leap.
“You’re okay,” he says, strong arms wrapped around me. “I’ve got you.”
Cold water splashes my bare feet, reminding me of the autumn chill. It’s colder than it was when I went to sleep. My feet numb even as I sweat.
“Do you want to climb onto my back?” Sawyer asks, bringing my attention to him. When I nod, he turns with his hands reaching behind him like he’s ready to catch me. I take a deep breath and hop up, my arms hooking around his neck as he holds up my hips.
He squeezes my calves, making my thighs twitch. “Ready?”
Clutching him tighter, I nod, cheek scraping cotton. “Yes.”
I’m mentally prepared for it, but still, I gasp as he lunges toward the next rock several feet away. He pauses half a second before leaping to the next and the next while I latch myselfto him, arms and legs hooking him in a python squeeze. More afraid of him slipping on a mossy rock than dropping me.
My lungs release as he makes the jump to land, his body tensing as his legs wobble in the mud. After he balances, he places me on my feet and turns to me.
“You okay?” he asks, gingerly grasping my shoulders. Something red catches my eye, and I look down to see a strange, web-like patch of tough flesh covering the back of one of his hands. There’s another patch up his arm.
Burns?
“We should keep going.”
His hands slip away, navy blue sleeves cloaking the scars. When I meet his eyes, I can tell he noticed me examining them, but he doesn’t comment.
He reaches for my hand once more, pausing an inch short—an invitation, not a command. It’s the simplest of gestures, but it feels symbolic. The tiniest release of control. Maybe another girl would give it.
I cross my arms over my chest and lower my head, following him when he hardly misses a beat. He leads me through the forest for several minutes before the top of a large, peach-colored building appears. A colorful mural reveals itself on the side of the building as we break through the trees, standing atop a hill. Halfway down is a group of people doing yoga on purple mats that make it seem like we stepped into another world. Asaferworld, a world so flamboyant it makes me queasy.
But it’s an illusion. There are no roads leading to the building, only a paved walking path extending beyond sight. Same world—more color.
“Where are we?”
Sawyer squeezes my hand. “Home.”
Home.
Ominous, calm, spoken with a hint of pride. He stares warmly at the building, hands loose at his sides, relaxed. The corners of his mouth are tugged into the slightest of smiles that looks so real, so subtle, I almost have to believe it.
But it’s fake.
He’s calm, then panicked, then calm. Manipulating my heart rate with his own breath—steadying, spiking, soothing. Like he can’t make up his mind whether the danger is on our heels or out of reach.
He’s faking. But why?
Motive?
My lips part, the accusation perched on the edge of my tongue. I hold it there while my mind whirs, sorting through what a weak, scared captive would say instead—unthreatening and docile.
Do not show your cards.
Do not share your knowledge.
Think. Study. Wait. Survive.
