WHO WAS SHE?
I kept running like my life depended on it. My grip on Zayne’s wrist tightened — letting go wasn’t an option.
My feet ached, begging me to stop, but I couldn’t. I could hear them — they were getting closer.
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t show any sign of weakness. Not now. Not ever.
My only priority was getting Zayne to safety.
I saw how tired he was, but I kept telling him we were close.
Close?
To where?
Where were we even heading?
I asked myself those questions, knowing I might never get an answer.
We’d been running for a week, and I hoped they’d stop searching.
But those selfish beasts wouldn’t give up.
They wanted every last one of us.
We stopped to catch our breath — too late.
I heard footsteps ahead. I grabbed Zayne and turned around.
But it was like running into their trap. We were already surrounded.
I pulled Zayne to me, holding him as close as possible.
But one of them grabbed him.
I didn’t let go.
A huge man slapped me, and I fell.
My fingers found the dagger strapped to his boot.
I stabbed his leg. He grunted and swung his elbow into the back of my head.
Darkness.
I collapsed.
And I lost sight of Zayne.
I fought to keep my eyes open.
But everything faded.
I kept hearing those same words: “Love is not weakness. He's your responsibility now.”
Then the blade swung.
The last thing I saw was their headless bodies collapsing to the ground.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, clutching Zayne and burying his face in my chest, as if I could protect him from the horror — as if I could shield him from the nightmare that had just become our reality.Before I could even pull myself back to reality, cold water splashed against my face. I jolted awake, breathing heavily. That was when it hit me—it wasn’t just a dream. It really happened.
I sat up quickly, my eyes scanning the container I was kept in, desperately hoping to find Zayne. But there was no sign of him. No trace at all.
All I could see were others like me—tied up, scared, silent. I could only assume they had been captured too… ripped from their homes just like we were.
The worst idea came to my mind.
Could they have killed him?
What had they done to him?
But then I noticed that only females were inside the container. I prayed and hoped that he was safe somewhere else. I had to believe that. Still, I needed to leave this place—it stank of sweat, blood, and fear. I had to think of something. Fast.
I struggled to loosen the ropes around my wrist, but one of the invaders spotted me. I didn’t care. All I cared about now was finding my little brother. He came close and struck me hard across the face. That wasn't part of the plan—but it was worth it. He lifted me onto his shoulder, and before I knew it, we were out of the container.
At last, I could breathe fresh air.
But the air was... different.
It didn’t smell like lavender anymore. It smelled like rusty newspapers and something rotten. I looked around, desperately searching for a way out. Just when I was about to keep looking, my eyes caught something—someone, rather. I saw her—Armina. She was being dragged like a sack, rope tied around her waist. I yelled out her name in tears—the tears I fought so hard not to let fall, but I couldn’t fight it anymore.
But before I could do anything, I was shoved down into a castle-like room. It was huge, eerie. Skulls, dried animal bodies, and strange decorations were everywhere.
He loosened the rope around my wrist, and I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes — these creatures didn’t deserve to see me weak and vulnerable.
Armina was my childhood best friend. We did everything together. She used to come to my house all the time to eat my mum’s special dish. She called it comfort soup.
Tears filled my eyes again as I remembered I’d never eat mum’s soup again, but I pushed the feeling down.
Before I could finish my thoughts, five scary men in red and black coats came in. They sat on skull chairs — their thrones, I guess.
“We had trouble getting this one, and she’s still acting tough,” the man who brought me in said.
I looked at him in disbelief. Was I supposed to just leave my home and go with them willingly?
I smirked, disgusted. He was reporting me to the five men, I couldn't really see any of their faces but I knew they carried a sinister air.
I was forced to kneel before them. I struggled for a moment but eventually gave in — my body was weak and tired, and I wasn’t ready to take another beating from the scar-faced man.
One of the men stood up and approached me. A chill ran down my spine, but I didn’t show it. He then asked if I had any family members alive, his voice barely a whisper. I looked at him and scoffed — was he seriously asking me that question?
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You invaded my home, took everything we had by force, slaughtered people like they were animals — and you're asking me if I have any family alive? Go to hell,” I spat on his leg, disgust and pain twisting in my chest.
He looked at his boot, clenching his fist. I knew I was about to get it real hard. The scar-faced man tried to hit me, but he stopped him — only to hit me real hard on my face with his boot. I couldn’t feel my mouth. Blood gushed out and my lips were hurting badly.
He turned and said something to someone else. I didn’t catch the words, but deep down, I knew something worse was coming.
Still, I couldn’t shake off the strange feeling that someone was watching us. Like a presence hiding in the shadows, silently observing everything that had been happening — but choosing to say nothing, do nothing.
I didn’t see anyone, but I felt it.
I pushed the thought aside. My mind was already full, and I had bigger problems to deal with.
Five minutes later, two men returned with a girl. A sack was tied over her head, but I could hear her crying. That voice—I knew that voice.
Armina.
I gasped, fear washing over me. I didn’t know what to do or say. One wrong move and it could cost either of us our lives.
I forced myself to stay calm, pretending not to recognize her.
But she ruined it.
The moment she saw me, she cried out my name and broke into sobs.
