Chasing Freedom

XIX

Mira collapsed the second she reached her room. Inches from the bed, her legs gave out from underneath her and she barely caught her own weight on her palms. The familiar space did little to clear to cloudiness in her mind or the clamminess of her skin.

How she'd gotten back here had been by sheer instinct, re-tracing the paths of the houses and roads she'd seen when Myles drove to the field. She lost count of the number of wrong turns she took. A delicate act, knowing she was being followed. At the guarded gate, she'd been waved through, despite the questions she knew the sentry had.

Now, as she lay in foetal position, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her head, tears flowed brutally. Everything the had happened was a blur, changing in the blink of an eye: her nightmares realised into the present. Leanne had become her father, her coat uncanny to his own. The pack surrounding them became the ambushing hunters. The silence morphed into cries of agony, rage and helplessness. The snow-patches turned to rivers of crimson, staining the ground at her feet. She heard her father's voice like an echo, warning her to run to safety.

Although she recognised where she was, now that she'd fled, it made little difference amongst the panic. The visions kept repeating. The howls. The blood. Her screams. His screams. The laughter. The forest she circled and hid in. Finding the smallest pace she could to wallow in her grief.

There was only one spot where she could replicate that here. The wardrobe. On hands and knees, she went there, pushing aside the sliding door. Inside, she welcomed the sense of claustrophobia and darkness. To the right, she found the a pile of blankets stashed. Pulling apart the crumpled mess, she curled into the corner, tucking herself into the space until the scent of fresh laundry became a distraction.

When something knocked her knee, she jumped, reaching down blindly. It was sharp, Mira thought, as it nicked her finger. Hissing at the sting, she gripped the handle tighter all the same, a fresh wave of anguish tearing her apart from the inside out.

Because she knew exactly what had hit her.

A knife—and not just any. The very one her father had given to her. One of three belongings she'd taken with her. The map. And the letter. All were here amongst the blankets.

The only tangible things she had left of him.

The rest was merely a fading memory.

How she would give anything to go back to that day—the before—knowing what she did know. She could stop it all from happening. They'd moved on short notice plenty of times. Sometimes at the risk of nearby hunters, other times when they were too close to passing Fae or Shifters. Had they not lit a fire the night before, would their location have gone undiscovered? Would the same have happened had she not gone out foraging, leaving visual tracks to follow? Were there signs they'd missed, forewarning them?

Mira clung to the knife, picturing her father. Trying to remember all the good times, even as they were shrouded by the bad. When they were happy despite all the challenges against them. Truly happy. The laughter. The open care-free affection. They were all each other had to rely on at the end of the day. It was a bond that couldn't be replaced.

Even in death.

He might be gone—but he was still with her. Just as he carried the memory of her mother with him, she carried his. Intangible or not.

"Mira, are you in here?"

She tighten her grip on the hilt, swallowing roughly. Myles' voice was close. Right by the doorway if she had to guess. In the cupboard, hidden as she was, there was no way he could see her even if he looked inside. She used that thought as an armour of sorts, because if she stayed here, silent, he'd never know.