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Not one of those boys holds my gaze for more than a split second. When I’ve made it past them, the tallest of them stamps out the cigarette and gestures for his friends to follow after him as he leads them back the way I came.
I keep going forward.
I still haven’t figured out where I’m going. I’ll have to do that soon. Without any money or a phone, though, it’s not gonna be easy. I tilt my head back, looking over the rooftops of the buildings that surround me on both sides. The sun’s starting to set. I let out a huge sigh of relief. Once the sun’s gone, that’s a good ten hours or so before I’ll have to worry about Rys again.
He can’t come out at night.
Nine can.
He didn’t answer me before, but that was because it was during the day. Right?
I’m hanging all of my hopes on it. Nine owes me. He pulled me through the shadows and left me all alone. And, sure, I did send him away. But you know what? He should’ve known better than to go.
Ugh.
Stupid Dark Fae.
Stupid prophecy.
Stupid queen.
Why the hell did they have to decide that I was the stupid Shadow?
I don’t want any part of it. They can’t make me be what they want. Besides, it’s a fae thing and, whoops, I’m not a fae. Sorry.
Pick someone else. Anyone else.
Just… not me.
It’s bad enough that there’s no going back from this. They can start tossing blue pills down my throat and that would never be enough for me to go back to pretending that the mythical race doesn’t exist. Too much has happened. For the first time in years, my eyes are fully open to the magic around me.
Even though there’s been no sign of Rys since I booked it from the cemetery, I’m on high alert. I try not to make it too obvious, though. Every couple of steps, I turn my head one way, then the next, constantly aware of my surroundings. I use the shiny, reflective glass of the storefront windows to look all around me—
—and that’s exactly how I find out I’m the lead story on the five o’clock news.
I was daring a quick peek inside the window of tiny, no-name, indie electronics store when I glance at the televisions propped up on display and nearly have a heart attack.
My face is staring back at me from like five different high def screens. It’s an old picture, taken straight from the papers. A shot of me leaving my juvenile court hearing weeks after Madelaine’s death—right before they shipped me off to Black Pine.
Six years have passed. I haven’t changed that much; on the outside, at least. I gape at the image filling the screens. I remember when I was that fifteen-year-old girl. I wore my hair shorter in those days. I was tanner, too—my skin was always sun-kissed back then—and a couple of pounds heavier.
I look resigned in that picture.
I recognize the expression intimately. It’s the same one I’ve seen in the mirror every morning since then.
I’m so consumed by the image from a lifetime ago, it takes me a second before I realize there are words plastered on the screen directly beneath the picture.
My jaws drops when I read them.
Black Pine Patient: Missing One Week
16
In the glass, I see my open mouth reflected back at me. I gulp. Stare. Then, a heartbeat later, my lips move.
“A week?”
It comes out like a squeal. I gasp, then cover my mouth with my gloved fingers.
