CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
The guard stepped forward. Too big. Too fast. No time.
“That way,” I gasped, pointing toward a narrow side hall.
Will didn’t hesitate. We darted into the corridor, knocking over a mop and a rusted bucket, water splashing everywhere. My foot slid and I went down hard, one hand smacking the tile.
Will yanked me through a sagging doorway into a laundry room. It stank of mildew and old soap, and piles of linens towered in the dark. We both saw the windows at the same time. Small. Narrow. Set high in the wall.
“Up,” Will said. “Now.”
He cupped his hands, and I stepped into them. He shoved me up. I clawed at the windowsill, scrambled, dragged myself through the narrow gap. Then I fell, hard, into cold, wet grass.
Will landed beside me, knees slamming into the mud.
Shouts erupted behind us.
“There they are!”
“Seize them!”
We didn’t stop.
We ran.
Beyond the infirmary stretched a sea of wheat. Tall and wild. Bent beneath the weight of the storm.
Rain tore sideways across the field, and the wind screamed in our ears as we plunged into the golden stalks.
The world vanished around us. Just wind.
Just rain. Just the sound of our feet slamming into wet ground.
My lungs burned. My legs gave out and caught again, over and over.
I could barely see, barely breathe, and still we ran.
The rain hit like tiny daggers of ice, slicing across my skin. The cold burned through me. The hospital gown clung to my body, soaked through, sheer and useless. My legs were bare. My feet already cut up, slipping in the mud with every step.
Behind us, lanterns bobbed in the darkness, dim pinpricks of fire weaving through the storm, hunting us. Will grabbed my arm and yanked me down with him, into the mud and roots and darkness.
I hit hard, face brushing wet earth, heart hammering in my throat. The stalks closed over us like a curtain, and we stayed flat.
Still.
Breathless.
Just above the tops of the wheat, I saw them.
Lanterns.
Swiveling back and forth like glowing eyes, cutting through the storm. Shouts echoed across the field. The stomp of boots. The hiss of wind. I was shaking. Not from fear.
Not just that.
From the cold.
Rain kept falling, relentless and freezing, soaking through the thin cotton of my gown. My arms burned. My teeth clacked together so hard it hurt. I curled in on myself, trying to keep my body small, to make less of a target, but I couldn’t stop the tremors.
Will shifted beside me.
He unclasped his cloak and slid it off his shoulders. Then, gently, he pulled it over me.
The fabric was heavy. Rough. Still damp from the rain. But it was warm where it had clung to him.
I wanted to say thank you. But my throat was tight. My breath shallow. So I just stayed there, curled against the earth, holding onto his warmth.
Above us, the lanterns moved on. Flickering farther and farther away.
Until they were gone.
We waited.
Long enough for the rain to settle into steady rhythm. Long enough for the shouting to fade. Then Will touched my shoulder.
“We have to move,” he whispered.
“I can’t—” I gasped. “Will, I can’t—”
But he was already pulling me up, arm tight around my waist. I pushed myself upright, dragging the cloak with me, clutching it tightly around my chest.
We crept. Step by step, soaked and shivering, we made our way deeper into the field.
The wheat shifted around us like waves. I couldn’t stop shaking, even with the cloak.
The wind roared like it wanted to rip the field apart.
My body shook with every step. I wasn’t sure what hurt more, the cold or the terror. I’d never felt so exposed in my life.
No protection.
No cover.
Not even clothes thick enough to block out the storm.
An old barn slumped at the far edge of the field, its frame leaned to one side, half-swallowed by tall grass. The wood was silvered from years of sun and rain, peeling in layers like old bark, and the doors looked like they’d fused shut with time.
Will grabbed the handle and pulled.
Nothing.
He braced himself and yanked again, jaw tight.
Still nothing.
Of course the doors were stuck. Why wouldn’t they be? Why should anything ever be easy?
I just stood there for a moment, blinking at the wood like it had personally offended me.
Will swore under his breath as he shoved his shoulder into the doors again, and I wandered past the side of the barn.
There was a collapsed lean-to, barely standing, and a handful of rusted tools leaning against the wall.
A pitchfork caught my eye.
Tall. Spiked. Iron. Ugly.
What if we could pry the door open? It was too heavy for me, but I didn’t care. I hooked my arm around it and dragged it across the grass, the prongs catching in the ground, slicing a path behind me.
Will was practically trying to kick the doors in when I got back.
I didn’t say anything.
“That could work,” he said, reaching for the fork. He wedged it between the doors, leaned in with all his weight—and the doors finally cracked open.
Dust exploded into the air like the barn exhaled for the first time in decades.
Inside, it was colder. Stiller. The kind of silence that feels thick in your ears, like cotton.
Shafts of light cut through the slats in the walls, catching the dust midair and turning it gold.
It would’ve been beautiful, if I wasn’t so damn tired.
Everything was coated in dust—broken crates, rusted tools, coils of old rope curled in the corner like sleeping snakes. Will shoved the doors shut behind us, the wood groaning in protest, then grabbed a loose plank and wedged it across the handles so no one could get in from the outside.
Only then did he turn to me.
”What…the…fuck…just happened?”
“I don't know,” I said.
“You don't know? Shit!” His tone sharpened. ”They could be sending patrols already. We need to move. We need to hide. We need to do something before they—”
“You don't think I know that?” I snapped. “Why did you bring me to that place?”
He stared at me.
“I went back,” he said. “After… after everything. I saw the smoke. And I found you.”
The words just hung there. He didn’t finish. Maybe he couldn’t.
“You found me?” I remembered crawling. The river. The blanket. That horrible cold. But… what was I wearing? What did I look like?
He found me like that?
“You were barely breathing,” he forced out. “You wouldn’t wake up. I thought you were—” He broke off, grinding his teeth like he could chew the word down before it tore free. “I thought I lost you.”
I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to hold that kind of pain. His or mine. I saw it. The panic. The guilt. Like he’d been carrying it this whole time, like it was stitched into his skin.
“You came back,” I whispered.
Will’s eyes flicked toward me. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
I sank into the old hay in the corner, knees folding under me. He stayed standing, still near the door, pacing tight lines like a caged animal. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
It was time.
If I didn’t tell him now, I never would.
I told myself that I could trust him. If there was a human left alive in this world that I could trust, it was him.
“Do you remember…” I kept my eyes on the floor. “The day on the ice lake?”
The rafters creaked overhead. A mouse darted through the hay.
Will slowed, turning slightly toward me. “You mean the day I almost drowned?” He huffed a short laugh. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I jumped in after you.” My fingers picked at the straw, splitting it apart. “But when we pulled you out, you were cold. Still. Not breathing.”
He rubbed his brow, squinting like he had to drag the memory through fog.
“Yeah… we were lucky. That woman found us. Took us to her cabin. Got us warm again.”
“It wasn’t luck, Will. It was me.” The words caught, but I forced them out. “I held you in my arms and prayed to all the gods and wished you back to me.”
I then stretched my arm toward him, showing the smooth skin that should have been scarred. Forcing him to look.
“I don’t know how… but I did.”
Will stared at me, unmoving.
“That’s not possible.”
I pushed myself to my feet, heat rising in my chest.
“How is any of this possible?”
I gestured wildly at myself. “If you found me, then you know. You saw me. You saw how bad it was.”
He flinched.
“There was so much blood,” I said. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be alive.”
I pressed a hand to my ribs, like I could still feel the gashes.
“How am I alive?” The question burst out. “How?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared.
“It happened,” I said, quieter now. “It happened back then. And it happened again.”
“Licia was there that day,” he murmured.
I nodded slowly.
“She knew?” he asked.
“Before it ever happened. She saw it in a dream.” I swallowed hard. “Told me not to tell anyone. Said they wouldn’t understand.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “And you… healed me?”
“But it doesn’t always work.” My throat closed. “The healing.”
I forced the words out. “I couldn’t save Einar.”
I hadn’t meant to say it, but the truth bled out anyway.
“I’m sorry.” He leaned back against the door, eyes closing for a moment. “I know what that’s like. Failing to save someone.”
When our eyes met again, I saw it. The same guilt I carried. Etched into his face.
“I found my mother,” he said at last. “Before I found you.”
His voice faltered, but he clenched his jaw and looked away. I could tell that he was holding back tears.
Gods.
I hadn’t even thought of that. What else he’d seen. Who else he’d—
“I’m so sorry, Will.” My throat ached. “She was good.”
His jaw tightened further, like the muscles might snap.
“She was,” he said, staring at the floorboards. “But I couldn’t save her. And I couldn’t save you.”
His voice was bitter. “We lost.”
His voice barely made it across the space between us.
“I told you we wouldn’t, but we did.”
He drifted toward the barn wall, fingers trailing across the wood. Leaned into it like he needed something solid to stay upright.
“We went to ambush those bastards. But they weren’t there. Someone warned them,” he said. “They knew we were coming. It was all a trap, and we walked right into it.”
He exhaled hard, chest heaving like he’d been holding it in for too long.
“I fought,” he said, eyes unfocused. “I tried. But we were losing.”
His shoulders caved in like the truth was folding him in half. He sank down onto an overturned crate, burying his face in his hands.
“I’m such a fucking coward.”
“You’re not.”
I didn’t move toward him, but my voice did—quiet, certain. Like if I said it soft enough, maybe it would sink in.
He looked up, eyes rimmed red.
“I turned and ran.”
“And you came back for me.” My voice cracked. “If you hadn’t—”
“I ran,” he repeated. Like it hurt. Like the word itself bruised his tongue. His fist clenched at his side. “And then I saw the smoke.”
The silence between us stretched, brittle and sharp.
I swallowed.
“There was never a ceremony… was there?”