9. Bianca
BIANCA
Five Years Later
“Three more, then coffee.” I draw back the bowstring.
Dawn’s creeping through the trees, all gray and misty, the kind of morning that makes everything look fuzzy around the edges.
It smells like wet dirt and old leaves. The bow feels like part of my damn arm at this point.
My callused fingertips hardly register the string anymore.
I line up the shot and let it fly. The arrow cuts through the air and slams dead center into the target I rigged up between two pines.
Perfect.
I ready another arrow, adjusting my stance on the forest floor. My boots don’t make a sound. I move like a ghost. This spot is mine, hidden deep enough in the woods that no one from the refuge bothers me here. Just me, my bow, and the quiet I crave.
Well, and the squirrel that’s been judging my form for the past ten minutes. The little bastard’s perched on a branch like he’s keeping score. He doesn’t look impressed.
The tiny gold bee sits in my pocket. I touch it through the fabric. It’s an old habit now, a way to remind me of my own strength.
I used to need people around me constantly. I hated being alone, hated the silence that let my thoughts get too loud. Now I seek it out. I need it. The solitude feels like safety, like control. Out here, I answer to no one, depend on no one, trust nothing but my own aim and instincts.
Another arrow. Another perfect hit. I look over, but my squirrel friend is gone.
By the time I finish, the sun’s up and people are starting their day. Marc waves from the training ground. I can hear some of the others sparring already. I’ll join them after breakfast.
Ellie calls out from the garden. “Bianca! I made a list for you of the seeds we need for the fall garden.”
“Thanks, El. I’ll be by later to grab it.”
She nods and turns back to pulling weeds.
Which reminds me, we also need antibiotics. Vera’s respiratory infection has been relentless, and our supply’s running low. More climbing rope too, since someone managed to fray half our good line last week. I’ll need to check with everyone later and make an actual list.
“Morning, badass Barbie,” Megan steps beside me, bumping my shoulder. Her overalls are smeared with pastel paint and dried flecks of clay lingering beneath her nails. “Any innocent woodland creatures suffer your wrath today?”
“Shockingly, no.” I glance at her sideways, lips quirking. “I even made friends with a squirrel.”
She tilts her head, skepticism flickering behind her brown eyes. “Friends? Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Have you seen Ez?”
Megan’s lips curl into a smile as she brushes dried clay from her fingertips. “Still tangled up in his blankets, most likely. Unlike some people, he believes in sleeping in on his days off.”
“Lazy ass,” I mutter, but my tone holds quiet affection.
She nudges my arm, eyes sparkling with subtle mischief. “Go wake up your boy toy. Tell him there’s fresh coffee and banana pancakes.”
I roll my eyes. Boy toy might be pushing it, but it’s close enough. Ezra and I keep things easy—best friends, occasional lovers, zero drama. Three years in, and it still works.
And it definitely doesn’t hurt that he knows what he’s doing.
I find Ezra lounging on his porch, his long legs stretched out as morning sunlight spills across his faded jeans. He’s cradling a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, an old book about plant medicine balanced on his knee.
When he hears my footsteps, his gaze lifts, mouth tipping into a relaxed smile.
“There’s my deadly archer,” he drawls, eyes lingering over my shoulders and arms—still tense from my morning target practice. “How’d you shoot today?”
I lean against the porch railing, meeting his gaze. “It went well.”
Ezra nods, taking a slow sip of coffee. He sets the mug down, stretching his arms above his head, his shirt rising to reveal a sliver of toned, warm brown skin. “You sparring later?”
“After breakfast. I am working with Natalie first, and then Marc promised to give me a challenge.”
Ezra chuckles. “You’re a menace.”
These days, few people in the refuge can match me blow for blow. I crave the pushback, the bruises, the reminder that I’m still alive.
It’s an outlet I need.
“Megan made pancakes,” I say.
“Pancakes sound good.”
We walk toward the communal kitchen together, our footsteps quiet on the packed earth.
My eyes drift briefly over Ezra’s face. It’s easy to forget sometimes how the three of us, including Megan, became inseparable.
But that day in town is burned into my memory.
It’s vivid, sharp, and permanent. The day we crossed a line we could never walk back from, when loyalty turned into blood.
We went into town for supplies, the three of us, same as always. My pulse had spiked when I spotted it… the same rusty brown truck that haunted my nightmares, paint peeling, parked carelessly by the curb. The same one from the night I was forced onto my knees.
“That’s them,” I murmur to Ezra and Megan, my blood turning to ice. “The alphas you stopped from…”
Megan’s face goes hard. Ezra’s hand moves to the knife at his belt.
“We could call it in,” he murmurs.
“Call what in? That I recognize them? That’ll go nowhere.” I shake my head.
I watch them through the store window. Same cruel presence. The tall, lanky one grabs the cashier’s wrist when she’s too slow making change. The stocky, mean-looking one makes crude comments about her ass. The smallest one laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
These are men who hurt people for fun. Who take what they want without permission. Without remorse.
“There’s another way,” I say.
The plan forms quickly. I walk into the store alone, letting them see me. Their eyes light up with recognition. The tall one elbows his friends and says something that makes them all grin.
I buy a few things, as casually as I can, then head toward the forest trail. Away from town, away from witnesses.
They follow. Of course, they follow.
“Well, well,” the tall one calls out when I’m deep enough in the trees. “If it isn’t the pretty little thing we had to give up before we were ready to. Miss us, beautiful?”
“Told you we’d find her eventually,” the stocky one says.
The thin one circles behind me, cutting off my escape route. “We’re going to make sure to take double the time to make up for last time. No interruptions.”
I let them get close. Let them think they have me cornered. Let them reach for me.
That’s when Ezra and Megan emerge from the trees with weapons.
“Miss us?” Megan asks, raising her pipe.
The alphas scramble backward, but there’s nowhere to go. We’ve herded them to the edge of the ravine.
“You fucking bitches,” the tall one snarls. “I’ll kill yo–”
Ezra’s knife opens his throat before he can finish.
The other two try to run. Megan takes down the stocky one with a blow to the skull. He tries to get up, but Ezra hits him with the pipe again before he can. I put an arrow through the third one’s spine as he runs away.
Coward.
It’s over in seconds.
We roll their bodies over the edge of the ravine and watch them disappear into the darkness below.
The communal kitchen buzzes with morning activity. People grab coffee, planning their day. Megan’s pancakes are already half gone, but she’s saved us a stack.
“You’re lucky I love you,” she says, sliding the plate toward us.
“We know,” Ezra and I say in unison, which makes her roll her eyes.
This is my world. These people who’ve known me at my worst know what I’m capable of and care about me anyway.
My satellite phone buzzes in my pocket. Not my regular phone—the emergency line we keep for absolute crises only. The one that almost never rings.
“Hello?”
“Bianca? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” she chokes out, words catching in her throat.
My pulse kicks into overdrive. Mom never calls the emergency line. Ever. We have our scheduled weekly check-ins on the regular phone when I go into town, carefully timed conversations where I tell her I’m fine and she pretends not to worry.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” I keep my tone level, but Ezra and Megan both look at me, instantly wary.
“It’s Winston. There was an accident. A bad one. He’s...” The world around me begins to crumble. “He’s in a coma, honey.”
Winston. My big brother, my protector, the one person who has always been there for me, even when I shut him out.
“What happened?”
“Car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit him head-on. He’s been in surgery for eight hours. The doctors say the next forty-eight hours are critical.”
I’m already moving, my mind shifting into crisis mode. Winston needs me. That’s all that matters.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say, hanging up before she can respond.
I look at Ezra and Megan, who are already standing.
“How bad?” Megan asks.
“Bad. I have to go.”
They nod, no questions asked.
“I’ll drive you to the airport,” Ezra says.
It hits me then how much this place, these people, have become my anchor. This will be my first time leaving, and I don’t know how to do life anymore without them.
I pack quickly—there’s very little I can’t live without. I’m more inclined to take my weapons than any other thing, but I don’t think airport security would be too understanding.
We first have to hike out of the woods, and then the drive to the airport takes two hours through winding mountain roads. Ezra doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He just drives while we listen to soft music.
“You going to be okay?” he asks when we pull up to departures. “Going back there, I mean.”
It’s a fair question. I haven’t been home in over five years. Haven’t seen my family in years, or my childhood bedroom, the places where everything fell apart.
The worst part is knowing it’s a matter of time before I run into them.
Winston’s friends.
But the thought doesn’t devastate me the way it used to. It just makes me tired. Sad for what was lost, for the girl who believed in fairytales.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I have to try.”
“Remember who you are now.”
I grab the bee in my pocket, thumb tracing its tiny golden wings. The metal is warm from being pressed against my body, a constant reminder of who I once was. Who I will never be again. “I won’t forget.”
He squeezes my shoulder—warm, reassuring. Supportive as always.
The flight gives me too much time to think. Two hours staring out airplane windows, thinking about going home.
My parents love me but don’t understand why I had to exile myself to the woods, why our conversations have to be brief in order to keep me stable.
They’ve never said so, but I imagine they’re disappointed I never went to college, found a job, and met someone.
Like they did. I always was the disappointment of the family.
They don’t get that some things still fuck me up when I consider them for too long, that staying away makes me feel safer.
I miss them like hell. I miss Dad’s terrible jokes and Mom’s fussing and the way they used to make me feel warm, secure, and loved. But being around them means being around reminders of who I used to be, what I used to want, and how I fell apart.
I’m not her anymore.
I never want to be her again.
The plane begins its descent. Below, I can see the city where I grew up, where the trajectory of my life shifted forever, and where my brother lies fighting for his life.
Winston’s going to be fine. He has to be. Because I can’t lose him with all of this space between us.
I touch the bee in my pocket one more time as the plane touches down.
Time to face the past.