Chapter 76
Chapter 76
Lila
I stopped counting after three days.
It wasn’t intentional. Just a slow erosion. The lines I’d scratched into the edge of the hearth blurred, smeared by soot, damp sleeves, and the weight of not caring enough to redraw them.
My internal clock had dissolved into fragments: sunrises, fire cycles, the brittle ache of hunger crawling like ivy through my ribs.
Mornings began gray, like even the air had stopped trying. My breath fogged even inside, near the fire. What wood I could drag in never fully dried, and each time I knelt to strike a spark, the damp bark hissed back at me, reluctant to burn.
I layered my cloak over the moth–eaten blanket from the cot, curling into it at night like a shivering animal. My clothes were smoke–stained and damp. My skin itched from the cold and grit.
The hunting I attempted yielded almost nothing.
Once, I caught a squirrel with a twisted back leg. I almost cried while skinning it. Not from grief or guilt, but just because it had been warm. And alive. And I felt… hollow.
Ruby tried to speak, soft and steady. Get up. Breathe. You’ve survived worse. But her voice was faint. Not gone, not like when exhausted threatened, she was just… tired. Like she was conserving energy, waiting for me to rise or fall before she pushed again.
Sometimes I whispered back. But sometimes, like now, I just stayed the silent presence trying to keep us fed and decide if we just waited this out the allotted days for the trial I’d be picked up and brought back to the palace.
On the fifth morning–maybe sixth, the days were blending together–I woke with the blanket twisted around my legs, the hearth cold, and the sun already high. I didn’t move for a long time.
I stared at the dying coals, my back pressed to the wall, breath shallow. My fingers were curled tight beneath my arms, trying to hold myself together, but it was like the cold had taken root inside me now.
I whispered my name aloud to remind myself I was still fighting.
“Lila”
The sound of my voice startled me. It felt too round in my mouth, like a memory I hadn’t chewed on in a long time.
I whispered my mother’s name next. Then Damon’s.
That one hurt the most.
I stood eventually, wrapped my cloak tight, and stepped outside. The air was sharp. It smelled of pine and rot. A bird startled somewhere in the upper canopy, and I crouched into a defensive stance so quickly I almost fell.
Old instincts. Muscle memory. I hated how easily it all came back. But I was a little thankful for it too.
I walked the perimeter again, like I’d done every day. Counting steps. Watching for movement. My boots caught on roots I should’ve remembered. The forest wasn’t just quiet, it was waiting. Breathing with me.
At the tree line, I crouched and traced my real name into the dirt with a stick.
L–i–l–a.
The L curved too wide. The A trailed off. I stared at it a long time before brushing it away with the flat of my palm. The dirt stuck to my skin.
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I didn’t want anyone to find it. Whoever they were.
Back inside, I sank onto the edge of the cot, elbows braced on my knees. The blanket scratched against my arms, stiff with age and something I’d rather
not know about,
Istared out the crooked window, wondering if Emma thought I was dead. If Damon event noticed I was gone.
We’re not broken, Ruby whispered. Just tired.
I dosed my eyes again, but I didn’t see sleep.
I pictured the palace. The conservatory. The way Damon had looked at me once, and now I wondered if I had ever meant anything to him at all.
It took me a while to notice the silence. Not the usual quiet of wind through trees or the distant caw of birds. This was ominous in its stillness.
I stepped out of the outpost carrying an armful of damp wood and froze.
The birds had stopped singing. A prickle crawled up the back of my neck.
Ruby stirred. Not a whisper this time–just the pulse of her attention snapping awake. We’re not alone.
I dropped the wood by the door and reached for the knife I kept sheathed beneath my coat, the handle cold against my palm. My breath fogged in the air. I turned in a slow circle, scanning the trees, the rocks, the brush.
Nothing.
And then–movement.
A flicker between two trees. Too fast. Too smooth.
Another figure appeared to the left, emerging from shadow like it was born from it. Half–shifted. Wild–eyed. Skin gray with filth and cold. Claws extended. Fangs visible even in human form.
A Rogue wolf.
No Pack mark. No intention to talk. Just hunger for violence or… I didn’t want to think about what else.
The first figure lunged at me. I sidestepped on instinct, driving my elbow into his side and slashing outward with the knife. He snarled, clipped my shoulder with a claw, but staggered back.
Pain bloomed, hot and immediate.
Another came from behind. I spun, ducked low, swept a leg out. He fell with a grunt. I kicked him hard in the ribs and turned to face the next.
Three of them now. Maybe more somewhere.
I didn’t think, I moved. Just like I had done when sparring with Damon.
Slash. Dodge. Elbow. Bite. I fought the way I used to train–dirty, desperate, efficient. My instincts surged. Ruby surged. We didn’t speak. We acted.
Every strike was survival. Every breath, a small rebellion against the death they expected.
One caught my thigh–deep. I cried out, the sound ripped from my lungs. Blood soaked into the fabric of my pants, hot and slick.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
I drove my knife into a rogue’s side and shoved him back with a roar. Another clawed my ribs. I turned and punched, teeth bared.
The third staggered.
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Chapter 76
And then he spoke.
“I know who you are, Lila.” he hissed, spitting blood. “You were supposed to be Elena.”
Everything stopped and the world tilted sideways. My body stilled, but my heart pounded like it might escape my chest.
He knew my name. And worse, he was looking for Elena. This didn’t make any sense. Unless whoever arranged for my exile didn’t know who I really was.
The knife slipped in my hand.
The Rogue took my momentary shock to lunge at me.
Ruby howled and I surged up, knife flashing, and drove it through the side of his neck. He dropped like a stone.
Blood gurgled, hot and steaming in the chilled air. The scent turned my stomach.
The last figure fled–wounded or afraid, I didn’t know. But I let him go, not having the energy to give chase.
I dropped to my knees in the frozen dirt, breathing hard, the knife still clenched in my hand. My thigh throbbed. My ribs burned. My shoulder leaked warmth into my coat.
But none of that compared to the chill that rooted in my chest.
They knew who I was.
This hadn’t just been exile. It was a target.
My breaths came in short, ragged pulls. I curled forward, pressing my forehead to the earth.
The dirt was hard and unforgiving. But not as much as the fear that now laced my every heartbeat.
AD
