Your Choice
Aviana
The anger in his voice sent chills through me. I had to get out of there. I didn’t really know Cade—not well enough to predict what he might do. Over the past several days, I’d started to trust him, trust his reassurances that no one could hurt me while I was here. But now I wasn’t so sure. Could he hurt me?
“Aviana, wait up!” I heard his voice echo from his office, but I didn’t stop.
I barely registered Cynthia’s concerned tone as I sprinted past her desk and out the office door. “Aviana, are you okay?” She called after me, but I didn’t answer. I just ran. And kept running.
My chest burned by the time I collided with Dr. Carter on the trail.
“Whoa there, Aviana!” he exclaimed, steadying me. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Do you want to work through anything? I can help.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Carter. I didn’t mean to… literally run into you. Everything’s fine,” I lied, forcing a weak smile. “I just felt like going for a run and wasn’t paying attention. Won’t happen again.”
His expression softened. “No harm done. We were actually about to start a group hike—why don’t you join us?”
“Yeah… that sounds good.” Safety in numbers, I thought. Cade wouldn’t try anything with people around. But even surrounded by others, I couldn’t shake the prickling sensation on the back of my neck, as if someone was watching me.
Distracted, I slammed into Hazel, who stopped abruptly in front of me.
“Oof! Watch it!” she grumbled, catching herself.
“I’m so sorry, Hazel,” I said quickly. “I really need to watch where I’m going. People probably think I’m a klutz by now.”
She shrugged, tying her shoe. “No big deal. I stopped because of this stupid lace. Didn’t want to trip.”
I hesitated. “Mind if I wait for you? We can walk together.”
Hazel glanced up and gave a small smile. “Sure, I don’t mind.”
Though we didn’t know each other well, I figured walking with her might keep my mind off Cade—or whoever might be lurking in the shadows. Hazel mostly kept to herself in the cabins, and I only knew bits and pieces about her: she was here to recover from an eating disorder and seemed to focus on physical and mental recovery.
“So, Hazel,” I started up the conversation as we walked, “what do you do here?”
She shrugged. “Cognitive behavioral therapy with Dr. Carter every other day. Physical stuff like swimming, hiking, and yoga every two days to rebuild muscle. Then there’s the nutrition course—it’s my favorite. I’m hoping to go back to school after this and become a nutritionist. Maybe help people who think like me… or end up like me.”
“That’s amazing,” I said, genuinely impressed. “You’re pretty cool, Hazel.”
“Thanks,” she replied, her voice lighter than I’d expected. For someone who gave off an aloof vibe, she was actually kind.
We walked quietly for a while, but the sensation of being watched persisted. I glanced over my shoulder more times than I could count.
“Do you ever get creeped out here?” I asked her.
Hazel frowned. “What do you mean? It’s just like any other camp.”
“Yeah… never mind,” I muttered, convincing myself it was all in my head. Still, the unease lingered. When I turned to say something to Hazel, I realized she had already left to join the gr oup that had moved ahead.
“Hazel? Hey, wait up!” I called, jogging to catch up—only to crash into a tall wall of muscle.
“Damn it,” I mumbled, stepping back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“Hello, Little Bird,” a familiar, robotic voice interrupted. “I thought you liked running away from me, not into my arms. But I have to admit, I like this better.”
“Nightshade,” I gasped, my stomach dropping.
“Say it again,” he demanded, his tone almost playful.
I didn’t wait to figure out what he meant. I spun around to run, but he was faster. He grabbed me by the waist, hoisting me onto his shoulder like I weighed nothing.
“Let me go!” I yell, pounding on his back. “Put me down!”
“You know, I really don’t want to,” he said with mock disappointment. “I like you in my arms. After last night, I thought you did too.”
I just keep struggling against his iron grip.
He laughed darkly. “Feisty today, aren’t we? I like it.”
With a sudden movement, he dumped me onto the ground. I scrambled to get up, but my legs refused to cooperate. Nightshade crouched in front of me, his eyes cold and calculating.
He watches me struggle, his head tilting slightly.
“Get up, Little Bird,” he orders as he backs away, his voice calm, controlled.
I press my hands into the dirt, forcing myself upright despite the tremble in my limbs. Every part of me screams to stop, but I refuse to let him see me break.
He steps forward and his gloved fingers brush beneath my chin, tilting my face up toward him. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone unreadable. “You’re learning.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding as I meet his dark gaze. “Learning what?” I force out.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips behind the mask. “How to survive.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in before he steps back. “Are you ready for your next lesson?”
My breath catches, uncertainty creeping in. But I don’t look away.
“Do I have a choice?” I ask.
His chuckle is low, almost amused. “You always have a choice, Little Bird.” His eyes darken. “But some choices come with consequences.”
I can feel my frustration boiling over, desperation creeping into my voice. “I don’t care what lesson you want to teach me. I’m not staying here.”
His expression hardens, his eyes narrowing, but there’s something in his gaze that I can’t quite read. “Then you’ve already made your choice.”
He smirked and pulled something from his jacket. A syringe.
“What is that? What are you going to—”