“Just trust me, okay?” he said suddenly, finally standing tall again and turning to face her. “I know what I’m doing. Just trust me this once.”

He took her face in his hands, and I dropped my eyes, backing away, because I couldn’t watch it anymore.

She was better for him. She was worlds better for him.

And even though I knew it was reckless just like all the times I did things in high school, knowing Martin would find out and knowing the consequences, I ran. The toe of my sneaker banged into a pipe, a clang piercing the air, but I didn’t care if they heard. I ran and ran with every intention of getting out of here once and for all. It was time.

I didn’t know where I was, where I was going, or how I would survive in the cold forest, but that was the thing about me—somehow I always made it through.

Climbing the ladder back up to my room, I bolted down the tunnel and slipped through the portrait again. I grabbed the sweatshirt Aydin brought me, slipped it on, and stuck the knife in my back pocket, leaving my claw glove and darting out of the room. Heading down the stairs, I looked quickly around the foyer, the statues and candles flickering and looming as if there were a presence I couldn’t see, and I dove into the kitchen, snatching my bundle from the cupboard.

Pulling up my hood, I ran for the back door.

But just then, the panel on the wall popped open and slid over as Alex slipped through, blocking my way.

Will walked in behind me, both of them breathing hard and fast like they’d been rushing to cut me off. They must’ve heard me stumble over the pipe in the tunnel.

“Emmy, you have to be quiet,” Alex whispered, peering over my shoulder in case anyone else came. “I won’t be able to get you out if he locks me up.”

He. Aydin.

“You want to leave, then?” I challenged her. “Then, let’s leave now. You chose to be here. I didn’t. I want to go home.”

I didn’t want to be here with them both. I didn’t want to be here at all. I didn’t give a shit if I died out there right now.

You’re my reflection. The backs of my eyes burned.

She shook her head at me. “I’m not leaving without him.”

“Fine.”

I rounded the island, shoved the only apothecary jar left at Will, and he jumped back as it crashed on the floor

I bolted from the room, racing back through the house and toward the front door. If he wasn’t ready to leave, I wasn’t waiting. I made my own choices.

I didn’t know why I was so pissed, because I knew what had happened between them, and he had no obligation to me, of all people, but seeing the bond up close…it was stronger than I thought.

It never occurred to me it was strong at all. How could I have been so stupid.

It hurt.

Someone grabbed me, and I dropped the bag of food, staring at Alex.

“You’ll die of exposure,” she said, barely above a murmur. “You won’t last the night.”

“So what were you planning to do here?” I barked, jerking my chin at Will as he strolled in behind Alex. “Use me as the distraction as you made your escape with him?”

“I was planning on escaping with him the day I got here and hide with him until help arrived,” she retorted, “but you showed up and fucked up my plans. Now I have two people to extract.”

Aw, so sorry for the inconvenience.

Either way, I was out of here. He didn’t want to leave, and she didn’t want to leave without him, so screw it.

“No one is going to save you,” I told him, looking over her shoulder into his eyes. “This is no one’s fault but yours. It’s time to save yourself, Will.”

But he just stood there like an oak, his green eyes hard on me as his brown hair, still wet from the greenhouse, hung in disarray.

He didn’t fight for himself. He didn’t stand up for himself…

He never did.

“You were always pathetic,” I told him, sneering. “You know that? Always so naïve and clueless and pathetic.”

A smack landed on my face, the sting spreading across my cheek and blood seeping into my mouth where it cut on my teeth.

I took two breaths and slowly turned my face back, staring at Alex and her fiery eyes.

“Emmy, I’m sorry,” she bit out. “I really am, but I’m not leaving without him, and you’re not leaving, either, because you’ll die out there. Think. You won’t know where to go, and you’ll cost me more time than you already have.”

Like that’s even remotely my fault.

I was leaving, dammit, whether she liked it or not. I wasn’t important to her.

Or him.

“What do you care anyway?” I growled, shoving her back so hard she stumbled. “You’ll have him all to yourself now. No competition.”

And to my surprise, she just chuckled and rushed back up to me, planting her hand over my mouth to shut me up.

I slapped her back, trying to get free but to no avail.

“Is that what you are, Emory?” she taunted. “Competition?”

I stand over my grandmother’s grave, the breeze kicking up as it blows through the trees.

I wipe a tear off my cheek.

I should be happy, right? She stuck around much longer than we thought she would. Like she knew she needed to be here for me.

It’s been over six years—almost seven—since I’ve been home, and even now, I look for Martin, afraid to run into him and afraid of everything else that fills this town.

Sooner or later, I’ll have to pay the piper. I just hope it isn’t today.

I walk to my rental car, hugging myself against the chill still in the spring air, and slide into the driver’s seat, starting the engine. My flight back to California isn’t until tomorrow, so that means I have to spend the night in Meridian City, because I’m not taking a chance of being caught in Thunder Bay any longer than necessary.

Still, though… I’ve learned how to straighten my hair, and I have my prescription sunglasses and matching, pressed clothes that fit me. No one will recognize me anymore.

I drive out of the cemetery, not looking at Edward McClanahan’s grave, but knowing exactly when I pass it as I exit the cemetery and turn up the music, “White Flag” by Bishop Briggs playing loud. I drive down the highway, tempted to look at the mansions as I pass—the Crists and the Fanes, the Torrances and the Ashbys—but I don’t, just hoping some semblance of his life is back to what it used to be, even if I already knew he has undoubtedly changed.

I just hope he’s gone. Traveling, living…loving, and being loved.

Tears spring to my eyes again, but I blink them away, nausea rolling through me. I did what I had to do, right? I might’ve even saved him from a worse fate.

But no matter how often I tell myself that, I still don’t feel it.

I need to face him and come clean. This is eating a hole through me, and if he hasn’t come for me yet, then he doesn’t know, and he should.

I can’t do this anymore.

Entering the village, I risk a drive past my old house, seeing newspapers scattered about the lawn, as well as the overgrown hedges and the garbage can laying on its side.

Does Martin still live there? There are no cars in the driveway.

After Grand-Mère passed a week ago, I emailed him and hoped for no response. He told me to the let him know what my plans were.