Page 30

He’s gone…. He actually left me?

For a moment, I want to laugh, because how stupid is he? Then I remember I have no idea where I am, and given how rustic and remote this place is, I’ll bet that road leads to nowhere fast.

With renewed energy from sleep and food, I shuffle around the room, getting a better sense of my immediate surroundings.

It’s better than the bunker…by a long shot. A small chest is tucked away in the corner, and other than that the room is bare— save for a picture on the wall of a forest that was hand-painted by someone. A nuance I can appreciate.

An animal skin rug covers the same wooden planks that make up the walls and ceiling, which is the same smoky scent that also clings to the Archer’s clothes. I drop to my knees and pull open the chest, which is full of clothes…lots of them, and all of them look like my size. Shirts, pants, sweaters, and hoodies—an entire wardrobe of items. An icky sensation washes over me as I realize who they belong to.

This must be part of his twisted game.

I push down a swirl of guilt at his accusations last night. I’m hardly the dangerous one. Though…I did lie about it to everyone for months.

Briefly assessing my wardrobe, I ultimately choose a black sweatshirt and hoodie. I tiptoe to the door, pushing it open, and I cautiously peer outside. It’s dark and quiet—and unsettling silence fills the air. My legs are wobbly, and dizziness hits me, making me lose my balance.

Gasping for air, I retreat to bed, my gaze fixed on the lingering sunset and the encroaching shadows from the trees. A sudden creak gets my attention, but it’s only a branch scraping against the house. After everything I’ve experienced, now I’m spooked at every little sound. I need to get out of here…

Move, Layla. Now’s your chance.

With a renewed sense of urgency, I head out of the room and tiptoe down a narrow hallway that opens into a spacious main room with arched ceilings, more expansive than the cramped bedroom. The kitchen is open and functional, wrapping around a large room that features a massive stone fireplace with embers still burning, creating a soft smoky scent, a sectional sofa, and an oversized armchair. Ahead of me is a staircase with hand-crafted railings twirling up toward a loft. Everything is soft, comfortable, and inviting. I hate that it’s so charming.

My lips are parched, so I creep into the kitchen, open the fridge to find a pitcher of water, which I immediately bring to my lips and chug down. Setting the pitcher aside, I head into the main room.

A dark sensation washes over me, similar to the entity in the bunker, like I’m not quite alone. I freeze mid-step. Someone is sitting in the armchair, partially hidden in the shadows—watching me.

“Natalie, is that you, dear?” I whip my hand to my mouth…and lose my ability to breathe. “Well, don’t just stand there,” he grumbles. “I need some water.”

I take a few steps back and glance down at my outfit. Then, I look up at the older, clearly confused man. He looks directly at me, yet it seems as if he’s looking right through me. I wave my arm, and he doesn’t follow the motion, confirming my suspicion that he’s partially blind. Not as old as I originally thought…but blind. Possibly late sixties, maybe early seventies. Not geriatric by any means.

“Natalie…” he says again. “Come play cards with me.” My ears perk up. He said it again…He called me Natalie. My skin pebbles, a soft breeze flows through the house as if she’s here with us, getting her divine justice. Laughing at me from her grave.

The man reaches for his cane and motions to get up.

I don’t utter a single word; I don’t even breathe. Instead, I take calm, steady steps toward the cabin door, slipping on a pair of shoes, pushing it open, and fleeing into the dense brush. The darkness immediately captures me from all sides. I don’t make it very far, barely inside the tree line when I drop to a crouch.

My head is spinning, and I don’t have anything that even resembles a plan. All I know is I have to get out of here. I twist my neck and keep my hands planted on the dusty earth. The left blends in with the right, the forest with the sky. My heart rate blitzes, just as I suspected. Twenty feet in and I’m already lost. I pull my knees to my chest and wait. It’s dark out now—night has taken over.

An hour goes by. My bones are chilled. My ego is bruised. Footsteps crunch nearby, snapping my attention. Black army boots enter my line of sight, and the Archer comes into view, hovering over me. I blow out a huge sigh and tilt my head up, keeping my eyes wide.

I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone.

Though he appears calm and collected, his clenched fists betray his anger. He crouches, so we are eye level, and I focus on the side of his face that’s not mangled. That’s the side I need right now. “What happened? he asks, reaching out and wiping mud and tears from my face with his thumb.

“He called me Natalie,” I tell him.

He’s silent for a long second, the fire in his eye flickers. “That was her name, Layla. She was a person with friends and a life and family.” I slump forward, part of me desperate for whatever wrath he’s about to unleash on me for running.

I deserve it, anyway.

I grab his hand and move it to my throat. He squeezes slightly. “Do it,” I dare him. “Punish me the way you want to. Fuck me the way you want to. Do whatever you need to take the pain away.”

His lips curl, and for a moment, it seems like he’s about to unleash fury on me. But he pulls his hand away. “Not now. Let’s go back. I’m hungry, and I have shit to do.”

He’s hungry? He has shit to do? Fuck that, fuck him. He brought me all the way out here; he needs to finish me. He turns his back to me instead.

“It kills you, doesn’t it?” I spit out.

His body stills.