The woods press in from all sides. The canopy swallows the sky, and the paths curve back on themselves like they were built to keep you lost. Everything in here was designed to make sure you don't come out.
The safe house is close now. I feel the pull toward shelter and something solid between us and everything hunting us in these woods.
Finn moves slower than he should, with Tommin by his side. The wound on his arm has soaked through the bandage already. Grier flanks his other side with one hand hovering near his elbow like he's ready to catch him if he stumbles.
Rye walks next Ella and me. His eyes keep moving, scanning the trees, and the shadows between. But his gaze keeps returning to Ella, to me, then back to her, like he's still making sure we're both real.
I feel it too. I've spent my whole life hiding and being half of something. Now the world feels heavier and more dangerous, but somehow more mine.
