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Naomi bends down and grabs me by the hair. “Don’t try to scream, London. Don’t fight the punishment, and it will end faster. I told you not to fucking mess with them.” She throws me back down again.

They couldn’t have taken me far. “Maison,” I cry out again.

The crack of her foot to my head whips me to my side, pain radiating all the way down my spine. Blood trickles down my nose, and I can taste the metal as it falls into my mouth.

Naomi circles as I curl into a fetal position, trying to protect my head. “I told you; they can’t hear you,” she growls. “Accept your punishment and don’t lie to us again.”

I close my eyes as mud and dirt seep into them, preparing myself for what’s to come. My mouth is already pulsing and split, my heavy breath and beating heart the only sounds I can hear. My punishment, apparently, and Naomi is the judge, jury, and executioner. So I let her have me.

“It didn’t have to be this way, London,” Nigel says darkly. “You just fucked up again.”

Through swollen eyes, I see his sneering lips under the moonlight. “Fuck you, Nigel,” I cry before the three of them kick me in the ribs, and Naomi unleashes her fury. She hovers over me and punches and kicks me more times than I can count. My shirt rides up, my belly scraping against the hard ground and rocks beneath me.

When she’s done, I lie alone and in pain on the forest floor, where they leave me. Maison’s promise to protect me a mere day earlier is the only thing I can focus on.

“I’ll do anything to protect you, London. I hope you know that.”

And I think to myself, Maison is nothing but a fucking liar.

It’s often said to trust your instincts, that trust can take years to build and mere seconds to shatter. And sometimes, you realize you never should have trusted at all. Unfortunately, every time I’ve put my trust in someone, I’ve been burned. In the past, I would have preferred to believe a sweet, deceitful lie rather than face the bitter truth. But now, all I have left is that bitter truth, which scorches my throat as I swallow it. I’ve come to realize that the only person I can trust is myself. I trusted Maison, and he abandoned me. My gut was right, guys are all the same. Maison wouldn’t even let me explain, and he let them hurt me.

I stayed on the ground, cold and alone, before the early morning streaks of light bled into the morning sky. My body hurt all over, searing pain in my ribs from Naomi’s brutal kicks. I reveled in the pain; it reminded me I’m still alive. It fueled me forward asI crawled my way back to my shelter, packed my bag with some clothes, and made my way over to the storage area. Thomas, of course, was not there to guard it, so I stole a spear, a couple cans of beans I’ve had my eye on for days, a lighter, and a bottle of purified water. Then, for good measure, I dumped water over the fire that was left unattended. It’s coals still burned red, sizzling and cracking from the wet wood. A final fuck you to everyone here—especially Micah.

If anyone had watched me, I’m sure I looked nothing short of barbaric. Mud was still caked on my face, dried blood on my lips, my hair unruly. I took pleasure in stealing as much as I could fit into my pack. It should be enough until someone comes. I am banking on someone coming; otherwise, I know I will die alone out here.

If the others follow, let them hunt me. I’d rather die alone than spend one more night with any of them.

I left the camp quietly. Slow and steady, I now make my way through the forest, which is dimly lit by the early morning sun. A hazy mist circles the air, and I was frozen to the core, but I refused to give up. I kept following Micah’s trail markers through the frost-covered wilderness toward the airplane. My senses are now listless and dull as I focus on taking one step at a time, almost like I’m dead inside and just trying to make it to the plane.

I take almost two hours to make the trip, and it’s only as the sun burns high in the sky that I finally notice the landscape changing. Back to burnt, crisp, dead trees and tundra with very little greenery.

The graveyard.

The brush tightens around me, and it’s completely silent when I finally see the charred tip of the airplane wing. My blood pounds through every hurt muscle as I take in the sight. The plane looks as animalistic as I do. Its exterior is ashen and dusty, blending into the blackened landscape around it. And the flies, so many buzzing around me. But it’s the smell that has me keeled over. The pungent stench of decomposing bodies overwhelms me, and I cry deeply at the horror of it all. It was easy to forget them when all I could focus on was survival. But now, being here again, the entire crash comes burning into my memories as if I’m living it again.

I can’t stay here long, but I can’t walk anymore, so I make my way to the airplane, over the slippery rocks and mud left from yesterday’s snowfall. Even the snow, it seems, wants nothing to do with this place, as there is a very little remnant of it.

The stairs hang down, inviting me through the open airplane door. I haul myself up and into the back door, where Nigel, Jade, and I sat when we left New Ocean. I immediately throw my pack down and ignore whatever else is on the airplane with me. I’m scared to check if Micah and the others removed all the bodies, although I have to believe they did. I curl up, grateful for a moment to rest out of the elements and my thoughts immediately drift to Maison.

Maison. I hate him, and miss him, and I wonder if he even knows I’m gone.

I dare to stand and look in the bathroom, at the mirror inside. Through the dust and ash, I see the image of myself, and it’s worse than I can imagine. I don’t recognize the person staring back at me. I have the same sunken cheeks as the other girls, and my hair is caked in mud and blood, falling over my chest while my collarbone protrudes out, showing how thin I have become. I pull up my shirt to properly inspect the damage done to my body, and below a thin layer of grime, the red scrapes and purple bruises are already forming.

I draw my hand to my hip bone—the one Micah likes so much. The layer of fat that used to surround it is gone. I doubt it would entice him so much anymore because I look like death reincarnate, not at all womanly, and super dirty. I’m not sure where to find fresh water, so I know I can’t stay. I’m so used to my daily baths in the fresh lake to clean myself.

I grab my spear and run my thumb along the edge, and I think of how satisfying it would be to jab this in Naomi’s leg. Which is exactly what I plan if she ever touches me again. Placing the spear down in front of me, the gentle howl of the wind outside lulls me into an almost sleep. My eyelids are swollen and heavy, and I have no sense of how long I’ve been sitting in here as I drift off to blissful sleep.

Then a hand brushes up against my cheek and I flutter my eyes open and gasp.

“London.” The familiar voice has my heart lurching.

My heavy lids take on his concerned face. “Maison?” I whisper.

He cocks his eyebrows and shakes his head.

I scramble up, lean back on the window, and reach for my spear, which is long enough I can jab it right in Micah’s belly. “Leave me alone, Micah.” I glare at him with my mud-caked hair hanging right in my face like a feral cat. Unease almost cripples me as he stares at me as an amused smirk plays at his lips from the pointy spear I have jammed in his belly.

I’m sure I look like a vision.