Panic washes over my body like a splash of cold water. The stick of dynamite in my hand is getting warmer and warmer, only being intensified under the glare of the sun. In a rush, I stand and close the door, trying to keep the explosive from falling off my shaking hand. I put it back in its crate, my chest constricting with a mix of relief and increasing fear. "Fuck," I mumble, a profanity that I heard by never said, perfectly fitting for the situation. All of these crates around me are filled with dynamite. There has to be at least twenty crates in here, probably containing fifty sticks each. My stomach turns as I sigh and accidentally get a lungful of the dynamite smell. I want to leave right now, from this carriage and from this circus, but I don't know how. My knees are shaking and I feel so sick that the room is spinning before my eyes. What do these psychopaths want to do with this much explosives? What kind of circus—? Okay, the

Running. They're running. From something or towards something, I don't know. Still, I want to find out, but there's this background hum of fear that's telling me to stay put until all the footsteps are gone. Either way, I can't move. I'm petrified in fear, and all I can do is sit here and listen as the heavy footsteps go away.There's complete silence now, apart from the rustling leaves being caressed by the wind. I hold my breath, waiting for a big sound, something that will shock me into moving, but nothing comes. The absence of sound is starting to creep towards me like a cold hand under the blankets. It's getting more and more intense, to the point that it's unbearable.I have to get out of here. Not just in Jossie's quarters, but this place entirely.I jump to my feet, my heart still racing inside my chest. I look around as my eyes start to adjust to the dark room, and immediately I find a discarded knife in a scabbard, thrown carelessly at the side

My muscles seize up in fright, almost causing me to stumble on one of the roots protruding from the forest floor. Alistair is just standing as I stay rooted in my spot. He’s not so far behind me, but I’m pretty sure that I got a decent headstart from the clearing. I’m sure that yes, he could be much faster than I am, but something tells me that his advantage is not just speed. When he sees that I stopped, he takes a step forward. “Lora, don’t go any further!” I know it’s just a fair warning, but my brain immediately interprets it as a threat. My body reacts immediately and propels me to run again. At this point I don’t care what kind of monsters await me if I go further. Wolves, big or not, magical or not, I’d rather face than listen to Alistair and come back into his messed up group. My feet land hard on the ground with every step, some of the rocks causing a jolt of pain to jump from my soles to my entire legs. My breath is fogging up before me, but

The sheer shock of feeling the cold blade dig into my skin is enough to make me gasp, but it’s nothing compared to the pain that attacks my senses the moment it sinks into my arm. As rough as I can, I push away Jossie, who stumbles back and watches me with a slight smile on her lips. I want nothing more than to kick her teeth in, but I have immediate problems. My brain is panicking. I clutch my bleeding arm, watching my thick, crimson blood seep through my fingers. Oh, I’m going to pass out. I don’t want to look at my own blood but I can’t avert my gaze out of horror. Why the hell is no one bothered that some crazy bitch stabbed me? I turn to Alistair to yell at him, but he’s already pushing past Jossie to get to me. I thought he’ll just sweet-talk me into believing that all of this is normal, but to my surprise, he snatches the knife from her. Then he runs the blade on his arm, the same exact spot as mine. “Alistair,” I begin to say,

A cold hand seems to be gripping my throat. Tears begin to leak out from the corners of my eyes. Seeing the ruins of the carriage, the very same one that I was in on the way out of the Palace, brings back so many memories of that day.  Crossing the walls. Seeing the poverty stricken people. Rebels attacking our carriage. Uncle Osman telling me to save myself. . . . I stare at the blood, the way it’s pooled and congealed on the dry leaves. The possibility of it being Uncle Osman’s blood is high, but it’s not something I want to believe. Not ever. Not while I’m still alive. Perhaps I can still find a way to search for him, to save him from those rebels. Suddenly numb, I get down from the horse and walk closer to the remains of the carriage, running down a finger on the velvet lining of the seat.