Until the Shadows Claim Her (The Fate of Her #1)

Chapter 1

1

T he rain is a living thing—violent, merciless—pummeling the windshield in relentless sheets, twisting the forest beyond into an anamorphic nightmare of grays and drowning greens. The wipers thrash across the glass, their frantic rhythm a losing battle against the storm. Each glimpse of the road lasts less than a second—distorted flashes of slick pavement and dense trees before the rain swallows them whole again.

If I blink, I’ll miss it.

I lean forward, gripping the wheel like a lifeline, my knuckles aching. My eyes strain to follow the road as it snakes through the endless stretch of forest. It’s the kind of storm that demands silence—the music turned down, breath held—like listening harder might make me see better.

The windshield keeps fogging up. My pulse is a live wire, stretched so thin I swear I can hear it fraying—one wrong move, one second too late, and I’ll be gone. Erased like I was never here at all. The road could swallow me whole, and it’d be days before anyone found me.

No one would notice.

At least, not anyone worthwhile.

To make matters worse, I haven’t seen another car for hours—not since my cell signal died. Which, of course, means my GPS cut out too, leaving me to navigate blind. Truly ideal conditions for a leisurely drive. Relaxing, even. I force my stiff fingers to unclench, prying them free one at a time. Wiping my slick palms against my jeans, I exhale slowly, forcing myself to breathe.

Of course, all of this isn’t enough—because why would it be? My traitorous phone sits unassuming in the cup holder, its battery draining with each passing minute. I pick it up. Again. Like I have every few minutes since I lost signal. The screen glows back at me, showcasing the photo I took of the New York City skyline last night. I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even after passing through a few big cities on my way north.

I don’t want to look, but my eyes flick to the corner of the screen anyway. 7%. I cringe. I risk taking one hand off the wheel, wiggling the power cord plugged into the dash—again. Unplug, replug. Nothing. I even switch ends, hoping for some kind of miracle. No matter what I try, that stupid lightning bolt never appears. Still nothing. Just my phone slowly dying, minute by minute.

“This is fine,” I mutter, dropping the useless phone back into the cup holder. “Totally fine. Perfect, really.” I sigh, shaking off as much of my growing anxiety as I can. It could be worse—so much worse. I know that better than anyone.

The words have become a mantra, one I’ve repeated a thousand times since I left in the dead of night. No matter how bad things get, I know—intimately—that nothing is worse than where I’ve been.

Being lost on a backroad in the middle of a storm, somewhere in Vermont? It’s nothing compared to the prison I just escaped. At least here, the walls are trees instead of stone.

My mother risked everything to get me out of there. She gave me a chance at a real life. I refuse to waste it complaining about a little rain and a dead battery.

The memories press in, creeping along the edges of my mind—dark, suffocating, waiting. They always do when my thoughts drift too far into the past. I take a breath. Shove them back down.

I made it out.

I survived.

And I’ll survive this, too.

Just as my determination locks into place, the car begins to rattle—mocking every positive thought I just had. At first, the noise is faint, barely audible over the rain.

Maybe it’s nothing.

Maybe the road just changed texture.

Then, a low, rhythmic clunk reverberates through the car—deep, unsettling, like the whole thing is coming apart beneath me. Dread spreads through my limbs like ice. I press my foot on the gas, as if I can outrun whatever’s happening. A violent shudder runs through the frame, rattling so hard it drowns out the rain. The engine sputters, choking on itself before letting out a guttural, gasping wheeze—like a last breath before collapse.

“Come on,” I whisper, begging the Toyota Corolla to be as indestructible as its reputation. My knuckles whiten around the wheel. “Come on! Please! Not now.”

The dashboard erupts in angry red symbols. The car gives one final, violent lurch—then dies, rolling to a pathetic stop at the side of the road. Silence settles in, heavy and absolute, broken only by the relentless drumming of rain on the roof and the useless swish of the windshield wipers.

Not that it does me any good.

I sit there for a long moment.

Then another.

Staring blankly at the steering wheel, at the glowing symbols behind it. My throat tightens, heat pricking behind my eyes. I swallow hard, forcing it back. Crying won’t help. It never does. If anything, it makes everything worse.

I give myself a few seconds to wallow in the absolute horror of my situation. Then, with a deep breath, I shove it all away. Pack it up. Lock it down. Stuff it into the same faraway place where the worst of my past is already buried.

With a sharp exhale, I know there’s only one thing to do. Reaching into the back seat, I rummage through the bag my mother meticulously packed, fingers brushing past neatly folded clothes until I find a jacket. Even though I left in the height of summer, I’m glad she thought ahead. It’s new—just like everything else she packed. A quiet reminder that the past doesn’t belong in the future—my future.

Staring out at the rain, I know any attempt to stay dry is pointless. An umbrella wouldn’t stand a chance in this storm—not that I have one to test the theory. But the jacket is better than nothing.

“There’s no time like the present, Celest.” I throw my long, dark hair into a tight ponytail, hoping to keep it out of my face while I hype myself up.

Draping the too-large jacket over my head, and wrapping it around myself, I’m pleased to see it covers more than expected. I grab my small crossbody purse from the passenger seat, rummaging through it quickly. My fingers brush against the familiar shape of my charger—the one that works, just not in this car. It doesn’t have the USB end I need for the outlet. Because, apparently, we have to have a different cord for everything.

Honestly, why do they do that? I sigh, shaking my head. At the very least, having a full battery might make me feel better.

Maybe.

I check to make sure the envelope—the one holding every detail of my new life—is still safely tucked inside, alongside my toothbrush and toothpaste. Satisfied, I slide my phone into the last bit of space left. With only the bare essentials packed, I pull the strap over my head and zip the bag safely under my jacket.

I glance out at the storm again, and—to my dismay, but not my surprise—the rain hasn’t let up. Not even a little. No, of course not. Why would anything go even infinitesimally easier for me? My stomach sinks at the thought of stepping into the downpour. But I don’t have a choice. It’s not like I can stay here.

Wherever here is.

I force myself to open the door. Cold rain lashes against me instantly, soaking my legs in seconds. I wince and shove the jacket further over my head, a useless barrier against the storm. Slamming the door shut behind me, I brace myself and start moving.

The rain is shockingly cold, soaking through the fabric within seconds—completely undoing all of my previous efforts. Loose strands of hair plaster to my face, and rivulets of water streak down my skin, blurring my vision as I start walking. My teeth chatter. I wipe at my eyes, pointlessly, only to do it again seconds later.

I take one last look at the silver car, unsure what to do next. I know nothing about cars, and I’ve never had to deal with something like this before. I’ve driven more in the last few days than the rest of my life combined. I’m not stupid—I know there are places that fix cars. What I don’t know is how much it costs. Or, more importantly, how I’m even supposed to get my car there in the first place. I take a deep breath. I’ll figure it out.

The rest I can deal with later.

One minute at a time.

The road stretches ahead, twisting and vanishing into the storm’s darkness. The downpour is unyielding, drumming against my skin, and each step is punctuated by a miserable squelch as my shoes fill with water. The oversized jacket clings to me like a soggy second skin, heavy with rain and utterly useless—offering neither warmth nor protection, only dragging me down with every step. I cross my arms, pressing my purse tightly against my chest, feeling its solid shape through the soaked fabric.

I have no idea how long I’ve been walking. My car disappeared behind me ages ago, lost in the downpour. The world around me is empty, unwelcoming—just rain, wind, and the endless stretch of road. I force myself to focus. One foot in front of the other.

I’ve survived worse than this.

I can survive this, too.

“I’m not going back,” I murmur to myself.

“I’m not going back!” This time, I shout it—a raw, desperate declaration that vanishes into the storm. There’s no one to hear me, no one to answer, but it doesn’t matter. The words settle deep in my chest, anchoring me, fortifying me. They’re a steady rhythm in my mind, until they feel real. Until I believe them.

The rain beats down, heavy and unforgiving, but I don’t fight it. I let it soak through my clothes, my skin, washing away the past like ink running off a page.

Life can throw whatever it wants at me. Every storm, every hardship, every impossible road—I’ll take them all. Because no matter how brutal it gets, it’s still better than going back.

Not now.

Not ever.

I take another step. Then another. I don’t know where this road leads, but as long as it isn’t back to him?

That’s all that matters.