Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
SOFIYA
The wind cuts through the thin fabric of my dress, and I shiver, sinking onto a rock to rest my aching feet and face the very real possibility that I’m lost. Can you even call it being lost when you never knew where you were or where you were going?
It feels like I’ve been out here for hours, and now I’m not even sure which direction I came from. The woods stretch endlessly, trees blending into one another, and I’m no closer to finding a way out.
A scurrying sound from the bushes stops me in my tracks. A squirrel? Yeah, definitely a squirrel—maybe a fox at most. Bears don’t live in this region. At least, I don’t think so. The woods feel colder and creepier as the wind picks up, rustling the leaves in a way that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
A trickle of panic builds, but I force it down. Emil and the other guards must have realized I was missing by now. Well, maybe. I have been spending a lot of time in my room. They might assume I wasn’t feeling well and went to lie down or something.
Best-case scenario: they saw me slip away on camera and are out looking for me right now. Sure, they’ll be pissed, but I can handle their anger. Worst case scenario: Emil got caught up in a game of cards and is not thinking about me at all.
Maybe I should try and find my way back. At this point, with the sky darkening and a chill settling into my bones, it seems like the smartest choice. Standing, I brush off my dress and turn in a semicircle. I’m pretty sure I came in the direction of that oak tree, about ninety percent sure.
I stand and keep moving, my steps slower now. My flimsy shoes slip on the damp moss, and I catch myself on a nearby tree trunk. A few drops of rain splatter against my arm. I glance up as the skies open, unleashing a downpour that soaks me to the bone.
I scramble toward the nearest tree, hoping to find some shelter beneath its branches, but the wind picked up, and the rain is lashing sideways. My teeth chatter as cold seeps into my bones, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to conserve the warmth I have left.
If things weren’t so dire, maybe I’d laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
Huddling under this tree is doing nothing to keep me dry. I might as well keep walking and pray that I’m heading in the right direction. I don’t make it far before my foot catches on something. I stumble forward, my ankle twisting as I trip over something hidden beneath the mossy carpet. Pain flares up my leg.
I sink to the ground, clutching my ankle. I curse these damn shoes. I curse Nikolai, regretting the day he walked into the Greek chapel to save me. And while I’m at it, I curse Roman, the Syndicate, and any connections I have to the bratva.
But most of all, I curse myself for fucking up so badly. I feel like a kid who always needs to be rescued—a burden to everyone in my life.
I lower my head onto my knees, my back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, and let all my emotions out. I’ve never felt so weak, so hopeless, so incredibly alone.