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He stepped closer.

“You haven’t eaten, so your nurse will be giving you more IV fluids,” he said.

“I don’t want that.”

“The doctor said you’re dehydrated.”

“You don’t know what I need.”

“I know you’re shaking because you are hungry.”

I looked down at my hands. They were trembling. I balled them into fists.

“I’m leaving,” I said.

“You can’t.”

I walked past him toward the door.

I twisted the knob, and it was unlocked.

I looked back at him.

“Try it,” he said quietly.

That was all I needed.

I bolted.

Down the hallway, past security posted outside the suite. They moved fast.

“Stop her,” one of them said in French.

“Non,” Ares’ voice carried behind me. Calm. Clear. “Laissez-la courir.”

Let her run.

I didn’t look back.

I flew down the staircase barefoot, my body remembering what my mind forgot. Track practice. Years of it in high school and college. I used to run like this before drugs.

I ran through the foyer.

Through the massive front doors.

The gates were open because a car had just entered.

I slipped through before they could close.

The hill was steep. Gravel bit into my feet. I kept going.

Air burned in my lungs. My head pounded. My legs felt like rubber.

But I ran.

I made it halfway down the hill before my vision started to blur.

My body was not what it used to be.