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As I adjust the shirt, the sound of wood bursting and cracking ahead signals the encroaching flames.
“Let’s go!” Avery’s voice echoes down to us.
Coughing and struggling to breathe in the smoke, Max takes the lead. “Stay low!” he shouts, his voice barely audible over the roar of the flames.
Devlin grabs my hand, holding on tightly as he leads me through the blinding, smoke-filled corridor. I can’t see anything, not my other mates, not my brother or Grace. All I have is the hope that we can make it out of this burning cabin in one piece.
We crouch, moving as swiftly as we can through the passage. I follow Devlin blindly as we make our way up the stairs. The oppressive heat surrounds us, a stifling force that threatens to overwhelm us. The cabin is quickly turning into an inferno.
All I can see is the floor and the thick cloud of smoke swirling around my calves. I’m grateful that Devlin is leading me, because if I saw more, I might panic. This way, I can pretend that this isn’t my reality.
“Door is barricaded,” Ashton rasps, his voice strained. “On two.”
“One,” Avery wheezes.
The smoke is thicker here, a choking cloud that obscures our vision and fills our lungs with fire.
“Two.” I hear their footsteps again, then a crash, quickly followed by the roar of the fire engulfing the cabin. Moments later, a rush of blissfully cold air greets us.
We stumble out into the night, disoriented by the stark contrast between the fiery interior and the icy exterior. Behind us, the cabin is a raging inferno, crackling in the night like an all-consuming beast.
We don’t get far before we collapse into the snow, Devlin’s coughing disturbing to my ears. Worry consumes me as I whip off his shirt and turn to him, sitting in the snow. He’s at least wearing his coat, but his face is blackened and burned.
“Don’t,” he wheezes then coughs. “I’m okay. We’ll get to a healer.”
My eyes turn to the cabin as the last of my family emerges from the flames that lick at the sky. Another explosion blasts outa window, and shattered glass rains down on the snow in the distance like tinkling bells.
The revving of an engine draws my attention as a large SUV with a plow blade cuts through the snow, heading our way. The truck veers toward us and then pauses.
The urgent voices of Devlin’s parents, their silhouettes framed against the flickering light of the fire, greet us. “Hurry, this way!” Devlin’s mother calls, her voice laced with concern. “It’s going to blow.”
We half run, half stumble toward the waiting vehicle, our bodies propelled by sheer survival instinct. Ashton and Avery usher Lex and Grace into the back seat, their faces ghostly pale in the firelight.
As I climb into the car, the heat from the burning cabin is still palpable, a reminder of the narrow escape we just had. Devlin’s father wastes no time, the car engine roaring to life as he speeds away from the scene.
As the distance between us and the cabin grows, the fire becomes a distant glow on the horizon, a hellish beacon in the night. The reality of what we just escaped, and the uncertainty of what lies ahead, settles over us like a heavy blanket.
The car ride is silent, each of us lost in our thoughts, cramped inside the vehicle. My sister tested the bonds of our little pack, and somehow, instead of breaking us apart, she only pulled us closer. As I glance at the faces of those around me, I feel a sense of unity, of unspoken resolve.
“We need healers,” Max rasps, his face covered in soot and burns. Everyone is hurt in some way.
“On it,” the woman in the front seat replies, her voice laced with concern.
Thea got away.
As the large vehicle rocks over snow and fallen logs, I sink into Devlin, his warmth radiating through me. Avery, on myother side, is my anchor. I should feel happy that we are all okay. Hell, I should feel happy that no one died, because if I had to face Thea, I’m not sure what I would do, except all I feel is conflicted.
I could never kill my sister, and I damn well know that Lex would never hurt a fly, so at the end of the day, where does that leave all of us?
It leaves the realization that some stories,our story,doesn’t have a complete happy ending. There are threads that remain unraveled, fraying with every mile that passes, and there they will stay—unresolved.
I hate that a part of me is okay that she got away, that she is free, even if she is a villain. To us, she is nothing more than our antagonist, and she almost got away with murder.
Does that make me too soft? Does that mean I’m just as bad of a person? Death isn’t always the answer. Is that philosophy the harder path, or the easier one?
But to live, to really live… is that her punishment? At the end of the day, I can live with my decision.
Can she?
