Catch Me

**Prologue**

Lilyboo crept through the night, desperate to get off the island.

Never to return to her master.

The jungle breathed around her. Wet leaves sighing, insects ticking like tiny clocks counting down her failure. She crouched low, knees bent, spine curved, small as a shadow could be. At four feet and six inches, she fit easily between the roots and rocks the soldiers cursed when they patrolled after dusk.

Her eyes, like a feline, caught everything.

Moonlight silvered the bark. Heat shimmered faintly off stone. Footprints glowed in her vision like fading embers -fresh ones meant danger. Old ones meant hope.

She froze.

Metal whispered.

Lilyboo flattened herself to the earth just as boots crushed leaves a dozen paces away. Human boots. Heavy. Careless. She could hear the soldier’s breath before he came into view, smell the oil on his blade, the sour wine on his tongue. Her pointed ears twitched, tracking his steps as if they were tugging invisible strings.

One… two… three—

He passed.

Lilyboo waited longer than her pounding heart begged her to. Goblins who rushed died young. Goblins who listened lived long enough to run.

She moved again.

The white dress clung to her legs, too bright, too loud. It glittered traitorously whenever the moon broke through the canopy. Lord Dremoor had liked it that way. Said it made her look 'pure'. Said it reminded him of all the things she wasn’t allowed to be.

Her veil snagged on a branch.

Lilyboo didn’t look back.

Fabric tore with a soft, final sigh. She left the veil behind, fluttering like a ghost caught in the thorns. Let the jungle have it. Let the castle keep its pretty lies.

She pushed forward into thicker brush, thorns kissing her arms, leaves slapping her cheeks. Her bare feet slipped in mud, sharp stones biting, but she didn’t slow. Pain was honest. Pain didn’t lie to her.

Then the dress betrayed her again.

The hem tangled around her ankle, and Lilyboo pitched forward with a startled squeak, hitting the ground hard. Air fled her lungs. For one terrifying heartbeat, she could hear nothing but the roaring of blood in her ears.

She scrambled up, dirt-streaked and shaking.

“No,” she whispered fiercely to herself. “Not now.”

She tore the skirt shorter with both hands, fabric ripping unevenly. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t polite.

It was free.

A horn sounded from the castle.

Lilyboo flinched.

One note. Then another.

They’d noticed.

She ran.

Branches blurred past as she darted through narrow gaps no human could follow without slowing. Her night-sight flared brighter, turning the world into sharp edges and glowing threats. She leapt a fallen log, slid down a slope, splashed through a shallow stream to break her scent just like she’d practiced in secret.

Lord Dremoor hadn’t known she listened when the hunters talked.

Another horn. Closer this time.

Dogs barked.

Lilyboo’s chest burned. Each breath came sharp and fast, but she smiled despite it—small, wild, almost feral. They were afraid. She could hear it now. Orders barked too loudly. Steel clanged. Men crashing through brush with no care for silence.

Clumsy. Slow.

Not goblin.

She burst from the trees onto black sand that still held the day’s warmth. The sea spread before her, endless and dark, moonlight breaking into a thousand trembling paths. The smell of salt made her eyes sting.

There.

The boat.

Just a fisher’s skiff, half-hidden among rocks, stolen keys tucked against her ribs. She stumbled toward it, feet bleeding, heart screaming.

An arrow struck the sand beside her with a hiss.

“Stop!” someone shouted.

Lilyboo didn’t.

She leapt into the skiff, nearly capsizing it, hands fumbling for the oars. Another arrow thunked into the hull. Too close. Far too close.

She shoved off with everything she had.

The tide caught her.

The island began to slip away.

Lilyboo rowed until her arms shook, until the shouts faded into the wind, until Lord Dremoor’s castle was nothing more than a jagged silhouette against the stars.

Only then did she let herself cry—quiet, breathless, smiling through it.

Each aching pull of the oars carried her farther from chains, farther from silk lies and cruel hands.

Each bare footstep she’d taken had led here.

And Lilyboo would never return.