Page 74 of The Ashpaw: Part One

The guard caught her elbow the third time.

“Careful,” he said, almost sounding as though he were actually concerned.

Fern nodded mutely, unable to speak past the growing lump in her throat.

Up, up, up…

By the time they reached the final landing, her legs trembled so badly she nearly missed the last step entirely.

The guard shoved open a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands.

Wind slammed into her instantly, and Fern recoiled.

The roof stretched beyond the doorway in a broad expanse of dark slate and pale stone, glistening faintly beneath the evening mist. Chimneys rose from portions of it in blackened pillars, smoke curling into the night sky. Along the edges stood a waist-high parapet, thick enough to keep a person from accidentally stepping off, though that did little to soothe the violent panic clawing up Fern’s spine.

Too high.

Too… too open.

Her body understood it before her mind did, and her pulse exploded into a frantic rhythm, breaths turning shallow and painful as her vision swam. The stones beneath her feet no longer felt solid but horribly temporary, as though the entire roof might tilt at any moment and spill her into the abyss below.

Don’t look over the edge.

The thought came too late as the cruel impulse took over.

Her eyes flicked toward the parapet, and instantly her stomach lurched so hard she gagged.

The distance below looked consuming, a gaping maw ready to swallow her whole.

Her toes curled inside her shoes as if trying to cling to the roof itself.

“Please,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

The guard shifted awkwardly behind her, clearly uncomfortable. “Orders are orders, Ashpaw.”

Fern barely heard him, her chest tightening so violently it hurt.

She could already imagine sleeping here, with the wind screaming around her and nothing overhead but open sky, only one wrong movement away from falling forever.

The roof did not feel like punishment. It felt like she’d been brought to the edge of the world and left there. To be forgotten.

The door closed, the lock turned, and the panic sluicing through her veins made it difficult to think.

Where to sleep, where to sit…

The middle too open, the side too precarious…

Everywhere was wrong.

She sat down where she stood, closing her eyes. After bringing her knees to her chest, she rested her forehead on them, whispering to herself.

“I’m on the ground, I’m on the ground, I’m on the ground…”

She did not sleep.

Chapter 19

Fern