I’ll give you one day’s head start before I come find you.
Found you.
No. Not yet. Don’t speak yet.
I don’t know how it’s possible to be so fucking drawn to someone I barely know, but every word Wren and I exchanged, every moment we spent together, are seared into my memory.
My free hand forms a fist, and my next inhale is shaky. “Wren, I?—”
Thunderous footsteps come from the stairway above us. A shout. A responding yell.
I lunge forward, grabbing Wren’s wrist. “If you want to live, we must go.Now.”
And maybe it’s the death all around us, or maybe it’s the pull between us, but Wren swallows. The longest moment passes before she looks back up at me and nods.
“Okay.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper. “Get us out of here, Hunter.”
2
RUNNING, AGAIN
WREN
I’m running.
Again.
Every time I think I’m done with this gods-awful activity, it pops back into my life like an annoying friend who won’t take a hint and go away. Not that I’ve had any of those, thanks to my Mark, but I can imagine how terrible that would be.
Running is bad on a good day.
Running in a ballgown through dark, cold, mazelike tunnels under a bloodthirsty king’s castle after leaving my dead friend behind is a whole new level of terrible.
Not to mention the fact that theHunteris my guide and we’re being pursued by soldiers. The sound of their footsteps is the backdrop to our own, a constant reminder that we cannot stop or take a break because they’ll catch up.
Hence the running. I’m at the tail end of our group, with Marie and Violet filling the gap between me and Gabriel. I grip the dagger I scooped up off the floor—the soldier it belonged to won’t be needing it—and my lungs burn as I draw in as much air as I can.
A rock juts out from the floor, and I stub my toe on it.
Gods above. Will my life ever stop getting worse?
Even as the question enters my mind, I scoff. It’s fucking unlikely. At least, it won’t get better any time soon. If there’s anything I’ve learned since escaping my fated death, it’s that nothing in this life is easy.
And that was before flames erupted from my hands.
Something tells me that between my magic—which is a problem to be dealt with later, because I can’t handle thinking about that right now—the people I killed, the fury in the king’s eyes, and the odd hook in my gut tugging me towards the Hunter, my life will keep going downhill.
It feels foolish to admit it, but a part of me thought turning twenty-one would miraculously make everything better.
But guess what?
It’s not better at all. Granted, I’ve been twenty-one for less than a day, so I don’t have a wealth of information to pull from, but so far, it’s been pretty suns-damned awful.
Anger bubbles up inside me, burning hotter with each swish of my dress and each pound of my feet against the stones. It’s not fucking fair that these things keep happening to me. Why can’t I have a single normal day?
My chest heaves, and my forehead is hot. I’m fairly certain my Mark is shining brighter than before.
Because of course it is. Suns, I’ve never felt more cursed than I do at this moment.
