3. Hailey
Chapter 3
Hailey
T he dense forest swallows me whole as I crash through the undergrowth, my bare feet finding purchase on the uneven ground. Every step sends jolts of pain through my legs, but I don’t slow down. Can’t slow down. The beta’s shouts fade behind me, replaced by the thundering of my own heartbeat and the rustle of leaves overhead.
The rough rope bites into my wrists, the friction burning as I stumble forward, my arms still awkwardly pinned behind me. My balance is off, every step like trusting in fate as my shoulders strain against the bindings. The blindfold has slipped some more, just enough to give me fleeting glimpses of green leaves and brown bark. It’s fragmented. Disorienting. I can’t…I can’t see enough to steady myself. When my feet catch on roots and uneven ground, it sends me lurching sideways.
But I can’t stop. Terror at my back, the slightest moment of hesitation, of pause, will result in my capture. I can’t stop. So, I push on.
When a branch whips across my face, stinging, I stumble. My shoulder clips a tree trunk, spinning me sideways. For a moment, I’m sure I’ll fall, but somehow I stagger, remaining upright, pushing myself harder. Faster.
Run, Hailey. Don’t stop. Just run. Keep on running .
The dress hangs in tatters around me, catching on every thorn and branch. I’d stop to rip it off, but a little voice is screaming that the moment I stop running, they’ll find me. So I don’t. Every rip, every tear shreds the fabric, but I keep on going. My breath burns in my lungs, my legs ache, but I can’t stop. Not yet. Not until I’m far enough away that the sound of my heartbeat drowns out the thought of their footsteps behind me.
Soft moss gives way to sharp stones, then back to springy earth. Everything smells green and alive and wild. So different from the sterile emptiness that has been my home for the last six years. So different it makes my head swim.
Or maybe that’s the exhaustion. The terror.
But I keep running.
Because for the first time in years, I’m choosing my own path. Even if that path leads nowhere. Even if they catch me. For these precious moments, I’m free.
And that’s worth everything.
When I slam into a tree so hard it makes my vision dull, that’s the only time I stop.
For a moment, the world goes silent except for the ringing in my ears. Then sensation floods back—rough bark scraping my cheek, my lungs fighting for air that won’t come. I lean against the rough bark, letting the tree hold me upright while my legs threaten to give way.
Sounds. Behind my heavy breathing, there are sounds, and as soon as they register, my pulse thunders again. Every sound makes me flinch—a bird taking flight, branches creaking in the wind, leaves rustling. Any of them could be danger. Any of them could mean they’re coming for me.
I strain my ears, trying to hear past my ragged breathing. Is that just the wind, or voices in the distance? My heart pounds so loudly it’s hard to tell.
And where is Vi? The thought hits me suddenly, sending another flood of panic through me. Is she safe? Did she make it far enough? I hope she’s still running. Even if I never see her again, I hope she makes it out of this alive. At least one of us should.
Finally allowing myself to take a measured breath, I squeeze my eyes shut. The blindfold is driving me crazy, the narrow strip of vision not enough to use for proper navigation. Turning my head, I press my face against the tree bark, using the rough surface to push the fabric up. The bark is rough, scratching my delicate skin, but I bear the discomfort as the piece of fabric moves, finally shifting enough that I can see clearly.
The world explodes into vivid detail, and for a moment, I’m overwhelmed. The forest towers around me, ancient pines stretching so high their tops disappear into a canopy of deep green. Shafts of golden sunlight pierce through gaps in the leaves, creating a pattern on the forest floor that shifts and dances with the breeze.
I stare at it for a long moment. Something so simple…something so beautiful…I haven’t seen anything like this in such a long time.
The ground is a patchwork of emerald moss, fallen needles, and exposed roots that twist like sleeping serpents between the trees.
It’s…magical. The only thing that pushes past the terror in my veins and steals my focus.
Everything is so alive, so vibrant, it almost makes my eyes hurt with the intensity of it. Ferns unfurl their delicate fronds at the base of the trees, and tiny purple wildflowers peek through the undergrowth. The air itself seems to shimmer with life—insects buzzing between patches of light, a spider’s web glistening with dew between two branches.
I’ve never seen anything so raw, so untamed. So free. But as my eyes track from tree to identical tree, that vastness starts to press in. There’s no path, no markers, nothing but green stretching endlessly in every direction. The beauty that captivated me moments ago now feels like it could swallow me whole. The thought pushes me to hyperventilate, but I force it down. Better lost in this wild beauty than trapped in that truck, being delivered to my new “master”.
A twig snaps somewhere behind me, and reality crashes back. My pulse skips, panic forming a ball in my throat. I turn my head slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. For a few moments, I don’t see anything. And then, there through the trees, I catch a glimpse of russet fur as a deer picks its way through the undergrowth, completely unaware of my presence. The sight of it—so peaceful, vulnerable, but so free—makes a hollow longing spread beneath my ribs.
That’s exactly what I want. Peace. Freedom. A chance to live my life without the constraints of my designation weighing down on me. Without being constantly reminded that I’m unwanted .
But I can’t stay here. The deer’s presence is a reminder that I need to keep moving. Where there’s one animal, there might be hunters. And the Reform Academy’s goons are probably already combing the forest. I have to keep moving.
But which way?
Pushing off from the tree, I start moving again, slower this time. My feet are bleeding, I realize, leaving tiny crimson marks on the moss. Need to be more careful. Need to think. The Academy might have tried to train the fight out of me, but they couldn’t erase the survival instincts I learned long before they got their hands on me.
Walking backward for a few steps, I drag my feet through the moss, trying to obscure the blood trails. It’s awkward with my hands still bound, but I manage. Then I turn and pick my way forward, more deliberately now, choosing each step with care. I don't know these woods, but I know what I’m running from. That’s enough.
So, I force my trembling legs to carry me forward .
Soon, shadows begin to stretch longer between the trees, making me stumble more often. Each root and stone finds my raw feet, but I barely feel the new cuts anymore. Everything below my ankles has become one dull throb. Step. Breathe. Step again. My world narrows to this rhythm, to the next tree I have to pass.
Only the light betrays how far I’ve come, shifting from harsh white to honey-gold through the leaves. When I tilt my head back, searching for direction, the sky burns rose pink through gaps in the canopy. My legs shake with each step now, and the air feels too thick to pull into my burning lungs. But I can’t stop. Not yet. Not while there’s still light to see by.
When I stumble across a small stream, the sound of running water nearly brings me to tears. I collapse to my knees beside it, the cool moss a balm against my battered skin. Drinking is awkward with my hands still bound and I know I’ll have to figure out a way to cut these ropes, but for now, I can only focus on drinking.
Leaning forward, I nearly fall face-first into the crystal-clear water. But the first taste of it on my parched tongue makes every undignified moment worth it.
The water is sweet and cold, tasting of minerals and earth. I drink until my stomach aches, knowing I should probably pace myself but unable to stop. Who knows when I’ll find water again? Each swallow feels like life itself flowing back into my depleted body.
As I catch my breath, I watch the stream’s surface ripple and dance, breaking the fading sunlight into a thousand glittering pieces. The day is dying, and with it, my strength. But I can’t stop here. Can’t rest. Not yet.
So I push myself up on tired legs, forcing myself onward as the forest grows darker around me.
By the time the last light has almost faded, I can hardly see where I’m going through the utter exhaustion.
The sun has almost set when I spot it—a flash of metal through the trees. At first, I think it’s them, the betas from the Academy, but as I creep closer, I realize it’s a fence. Tall, chain-link, stretching as far as I can see in either direction through the deepening twilight.
I blink hard, trying to focus on the metal links swimming before my eyes. Property line? But which side am I on? The exhaustion makes it hard to think straight, my thoughts as tangled as my matted hair.
But I know I can’t stay on this side. Whatever lies beyond that fence has to be better than what’s behind me.
With my hands bound at my back, the fence mocks me. But I have to try. I back up against the metal links, fumbling to hook my raw fingers through them. My legs shake just standing here. Deep breath. One foot up . My arms take my weight and fire shoots through my shoulders. Another step. The wire bites deeper into my already bleeding wrists.
I slip. My spine scrapes down the fence, my bound hands crushed between metal and bone. Stars burst behind my eyes, but I cling on, chest heaving. Can’t fall. Can’t stop. Up again. Each inch is a battle, my muscles spasming, sweat or blood trickling down my arms. I slip again, catching myself with the backs of my legs braced against the links, shoulders wrenched so far I think they might tear.
By the time I reach the top, I’m gasping for air, my whole body trembling. I can’t feel my hands anymore. Getting over means letting go. Means trusting my body to twist in the air when I can barely remember which way is down. I’ll have to throw myself backward, praying I can twist enough mid-air to land on my feet.
Do it.
For one terrifying moment, I’m falling, the world spinning around me.
I hit the ground hard, landing awkwardly on my side. Pain explodes through my hip and shoulder and a cry escapes before I can bite it back. I can’t move. Just have to lie there for a moment, trying to breathe through the agony. Pine needles and damp earth press against my cheek and my body sinks deeper into the forest floor with each ragged breath, like the ground itself is trying to cradle me. The sweet, rotting scent of dead leaves fills my nose, and my eyelids grow heavier with each slow blink. Just a moment’s rest…just one moment to let the pain ebb. It would be so easy to just close my eyes…
But I can’t. Not here. Not yet.
My palms press into the earth, trembling as I try to lever myself up. The world tilts and spins. Back down. Try again. This time I roll to my knees first, waiting out the wave of nausea that follows. Every heartbeat sends fresh pain through my hip. Standing takes three attempts, and when I finally make it, I have to lean against a tree until the black spots clear from my vision.
One foot forward. Then another. Each step sends jolts of fire up my leg, but I force myself to keep moving. Through the growing darkness, I notice the forest changing—fewer branches catching at my clothes, more space between the trees. The ground feels different too, less wild somehow. Like someone’s been tending it.
That’s when I see it.
The cabin sits in a small clearing, a dark shape against the violet sky. For a moment, I think my exhausted mind is playing tricks on me. But no—it’s real. A simple structure of weathered wood and stone, with a small porch and shuttered windows.
Panic flares, sending my heart into my ribs as I crouch behind a tree, watching. Waiting. But no lights flicker behind those windows. No smoke rises from the stone chimney. No signs of life stir in or around the building.
Still, I wait. The last traces of daylight fade as I huddle in my hiding spot, every muscle tense despite my exhaustion. A cool breeze rustles through the trees, making me shiver in my tattered excuse of a dress, and night creatures begin their songs—crickets chirping, an owl calling somewhere in the distance. But the cabin remains dark and silent.
Finally, desperation overcomes caution. I need shelter. Need rest. If I stay out here much longer, I’ll collapse, and then what ?
Moving as quietly as my trembling legs allow, I creep toward the cabin. Each step feels like an eternity, my senses straining for any sign of danger. But I’m not made for stalking prey—I’m an omega. My instincts are geared toward finding safety, toward shelter. Right now they’re screaming at me to run, not creep closer to whatever might be waiting in that cabin.
Terror in my veins, I keep creeping forward. The porch boards creak under my weight—a good sign. If anyone lived here, they would know about squeaky boards; would have fixed them.
I turn my back to the door, fingers fumbling behind me for the handle. The metal is cool against my palms as I twist it awkwardly, keeping my eyes on the darkening forest. To my surprise, it turns. Not locked. My heart stops. Is this a trap? But my tired mind can’t process the possibilities anymore. I need to get inside. Need to rest.
The door swings inward with a soft groan that makes me wince. I freeze, listening. Nothing but the night sounds and my own breathing.
Moonlight spills through the windows, illuminating the interior. It’s a single room, sparse but clean. No dust covers the simple furniture—a small table, two chairs, a trunk against one wall. And most importantly, a narrow cot in the corner, neatly made with what looks like clean linen.
Someone maintains this place, but they’re not here now. Maybe it’s a hunting cabin, used only in season. Maybe I have time before they return…
The sight of that cot makes my instincts surge. Everything in me aches to nest, to burrow into what looks like the softest bedding I’ve seen in years. My hands twist against their bindings, desperate to touch, to arrange, to make it mine, even if just for a moment. I fight it. Force myself to check the cabin again, straining my limited senses for any hint of danger. But exhaustion wins. My legs give out and I stumble across the room to sink into the cot. A small sound escapes my throat—the mattress is so soft it brings tears to my eyes. After years of thin pallets and hard floors, it feels like floating on a cloud. The linen smell of pine and sunshine, like they’ve been dried outside, and that neglected part of me keens at the comfort I’ve been denied for so long. I shouldn’t. I need to stay alert, need to keep moving. But my body betrays me, melting into the softness as my instincts whimper their approval.
I should remain alert. I should try to free my hands. Should examine the cabin more carefully. Should…should…
But exhaustion wins. My eyes drift shut even as my senses strain for danger. The last thought I have before unconsciousness claims me is that at least if they find me here, I’ll have had these few moments of rest.
These few moments of something almost like peace.