If I never woke up from my short sleeps, it would be a blessing, and yet I’d never been brave enough to rebel through death.
Nothing matters.
Nothing, that is, until I see her.
There are bodies scattered along the path, pools of crimson blood, and her, crouched behind the overturned wagon. Her hair is a mess of bronze curls. Her frame is thinner than it should be, and dirt is caked beneath her nails.
The moment her hard gaze falls on me, a blinding rush of panic floods my body in such staggering agony, I think my heart might stop in an instant.
To my surprise, my knees do not buckle. My heart does not implode.
Those memories, hidden in the depths of my mind, rush to the surface, and I’ve never, ever been more terrified in my life.
Suddenly, everything matters.
Every movement, every blink, every thought is as sharp as cutting glass.
She should not be here.
I hadn’t thought I had anything left to fear. I hadn’t thought there was a reason I continued living. But I was wrong.
I feel every ounce of it right here and now.
Even in the years of my hopelessness, she was there daring me to survive.
My heart continued to beat only because she lived free of this terrible darkness. Her life, so far from my despair, was the one single spark of light left in the ashes.
I continued on in darkness because even though I knew I would never witness it again, she breathed fresh air and planted flowers and sang songs.
Somewhere in this broken world she lived. She was free.
I didn’t think of her often, but I’d never once forgotten.
She spits at my feet with a curse on her lips. She throws a rock in wild rebellion.
My god, she is beautiful.
My gaze flits up to Ivar as he marches forward, blade dripping fresh blood.
Panic pulses behind my eyes.
I take stock of the situation. There are four Drak’yn in our squad—one less than standard after Mikael fell to infection two nights ago. Even down one soldier, we are an impossible foe to defeat. Ivar alone would be a formidable opponent for me, let alone two others.
The girl has no chance of escape. Her fate will be decided by Ivar, no one else.
Her eyes remain hard, but her body reveals her fear, cowering behind the broken wheel. It gives her only a tiny barrier between the four hardened warriors surrounding her. She knows there is no escape.
Yet, she flings a rock in Ivar’s direction. “Monstrous blight!” she screams.
Wrong soldier to target, I reprimand her silently.
Ivar only grins and slowly approaches, his boots sloshing in the mixture of mud and blood in the precious feet between them.
“These the last two?” Maddox asks, as he grabs an older woman by the arm as she sobs.
The girl’s eyes flick to the brush to the west.
There’s a tiny crack of a stick in the forest.
