Page 171
My chest is already hurting by the time I break into a run, panic climbing higher with every step while the streets blur around me. People shout behind the market stalls as I shove past them too hard, nearly slipping against the wet stone while my lungs lock tighter and tighter.
I burned the page. So why won’t they leave me alone?
I turn down the side lane near the butcher’s district and nearly crash straight into old Mister Vale carrying crates toward the Ward gates.
“Watch where you’re—”
I don’t stop running. Don’t look back either. I can’t.
Because deep down, I already know that if I look behind me, they’ll still be there. Following me. Always following me.
By the time I reach our street, I’m panting so hard my vision blurs around the edges.
Wake up.
The front door is open. Light spills across the steps.
And Ma—
For one horrible second, I think they’ve gotten inside the house.
I stumble through the doorway, unable to breathe, and find Ma crying so hard Pa is physically holding her upright beside the kitchen table. A crumpled piece of paper shudders between her fingers.
“She’s gone,” Ma sobs, clutching the front of Pa’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric beneath her fists. “My baby’s gone. Sola’s gone.”
The whole room tilts.
It’s a lie. Sola always comes back. It might be after midnight with cold hands and wind-tangled hair, showing up in the kitchen like she was only gone five minutes instead of five hours, but she always comes back.
Don’t tell Ma, she would say. I never did, though Pa always knew anyway. She’d just grin at him over the top of her mug while he pretended to be angry.
The first time I told her somebody was following us, she laughed. Not because it was funny, but because she never wanted me to see her scared.
You’re imagining things.
The man was still there when we left the market, still there when we crossed the square, still there when we reached the bridge.
I remember looking back one last time and finding him exactly where I expected him to be.
Sola squeezed my shoulder so hard it almost hurt. Keep walking, Rowan.
I never understood why she sounded frightened until years later.
Sola always comes back.
“She left this,” Ma cries, lifting the letter with trembling hands like she still can’t believe it’s real. “She said not to look for her.”
She’s crying too hard to hold the paper steady. Pa tries taking it from her, but she won’t let go. The edges are already crumpled from gripping it too tightly.
A horrible image crawls through me. Sola sitting somewhere with a pen in her hand, choosing every word. Choosing to leave.
No. No, she wouldn’t.
“‘I’m sorry,’” Ma reads. “‘Please protect Rowan.’”
Wake up.
Something inside my chest lurches, the thought hitting so fast it nearly folds me in half.
