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Maison’s voice keeps me going. “Come on, London. You’re almost there. You’re so fucking strong and beautiful. You can do this.” His encouragement is all I need.

Sweat drips down the bridge of my nose despite how cold I am, but I continue because it’s either a broken hand, dying of thirst, or being torn apart by whoever or whatever is out there watching me. Or being killed by those wolves that I fear so much.

I don’t want to die. I’ve gone through too much.

Eventually, my hand slips through, each bone fragmented and each ligament torn apart, almost like they never healed at all.

An audible snap.

My limp, frozen bones and flesh slide right through the wire and my body is free. For a few agonizing seconds, I can’t breathe, my body in utter shock before it all comes crashing in on me.

Reality.

Maison’s gone. My hallucination’s over. Just a faint wind left where he was sitting on the bed. Nothing but particles of dust because my living and breathing boyfriend is missing and needs me, and apparently, I cannot bear to think about both of them at the same time.

Micah might have tied me up, but he wouldn’t have left me this long. Maison’s wrong. I know in every part of my soul that Micah would never abandon me.

I’m angry… pissed off at him, but I love him.

And right now, he needs me.

I wipe the sweat off my brow and pull on Maison’s hockey sweater, which is conveniently close by. I barely manage to change out of my pee-soaked pants, whipping them across the room.

Enough is enough. I need to grieve him, and in order to grieve him, I need to remember him. His sweater still smells like him, which is probably what I was smelling when I was hallucinating.

I spend a moment basking in the scent of his sweater before I fully comprehend the pain in my hand.

I’m bleeding… badly.

Blood wells from the flaps of skin where the wire cut my wrist as I refractured it to pull it through. Tiny droplets of blood soak the bed and create a trail across the floor as I crawl over it. I hate looking at it—the crimson. It’s a reminder of how much blood has been spilled already and of the terror building up from the nightmares of losing my hand.

I find the little compartment where Micah hid the medical kit, opening a trapdoor in the ground. Micah dug to hide it, should anyone come looking for it, and it’s a clever hiding place.

I do what I can to clean my wounds and wrap my hand in a bandage the best I can before hiding the kit again and setting my sights on the door. Hopefully, the bandage and tight wrap will stave off any infection. I’ll come back for the medical kit. I don’t dare take it out yet, remembering all the strife it caused on this island.

Micah left a bit of food on the table, which sets off my senses as if I were a feral dog. I push myself toward it, ripping it to shreds with my teeth and devouring it. It’s enough. I find what little water we have, made of melted snow, and chug it. My energy comes soaring back, although it doesn’t take much to satiate my hunger, which is still a constant tug in my belly.

Instead of leaving, I pull myself back to the bed and lie down, completely exhausted from what I just did to myself but relieved I am no longer tied and bound.

I stretch my legs and arms and twist my torso, relieving all the kinks in my back, neck, and shoulders. The door shutters in the wind and I watch it, hoping that, at any second, Micah will walk back through the door and see me sitting here, unbound. Being the obedient girl he likes so much, not leaving him like I had promised.

The sun’s rays are shining through the window, and I stare at them for what seems like hours, in a trance, as they shift across the room. I should have stayed tied up because it’s not like I’m moving anyway. I want to leave, but I am unable to muster the courage to do so.

“Go, baby. You can’t stay here with him.”

I seek out Maison, but he isn’t here. Only his voice in my head. I sway back and forth and bring my hands to my knees, careful not to agitate my broken hand.

I whisper out to him. “He’ll be so mad at me if I leave him, Maison. I’ll lose him…”

“You’ve already lost him.” His words echo in my ears and create a sharp ache in my belly.

He appears now in my peripheral vision, out of reach and out of sight, his ghostly presence disappearing as I come to my senses.

I sniffle and wipe the tears stinging my face. Then I will myself to grab my pack and move toward the door before I overthink my decision to leave.

I’ll head south and hope for the best. I’ll see if I can find him. If I follow the stream, it should eventually take me to the others’ site.

The mid-afternoon light blinds me. My head shifts around, and I blink a few times, not truly understanding what I am seeing. Large pieces of ice layer the ground—hail. It looks like it hailed. The voices, the laughter… they were probably from the thunder. I scratch my head, but my hairs stand on end like I am being watched.