The Season Trials

C H A P T E R F I F T E E N

[warning: heavy themes towards the end]

C H A P T E R          F I F T E E N

I don't sleep that night. I let them think I've become complacent. And I know it happens because as I sneak off of the bed, no one comes running into the room. There's no panic. No suspicion.

Night has long since fallen, the sky. No moon isn't in sight. Which, if Jaylee was here, she'd say was good luck. She used to stare out at the sky watching the moon crest. Something bad always happened. Then, one day it wasn't there. Overnight, our chicken laid enough eggs to last us a week. My carvings all went for a higher price the next day. We didn't go hungry.

It's rare that there's no moon. And each time, it brings luck.

But the pit of nerves flurrying in my stomach doesn't disappear. The sense that something big will hit doesn't leave.

I can't get luck. I lost that second I was branded.

Tearing my eyes away, I shift the covers a little more. The rustle they make in the silence is ear-piercing. Yet no on runs into the room. Warily, I move to the edge of the bed. Then, weight balanced, on my uninjured ankle, I stand by the edge of the bed. My stomach revolts, so used to eating so little, but I ignore it.

Hobbling on my still bound (with a thick brace made of material I cannot identify) ankle, I make my way to the open door. For all I know, it's a trap—and taking the bait. Still, I need to try something. And there's no sound in the house from anywhere. They're all asleep.

It shouldn't feel like I'm portraying their trust, but it does. Because they gave me food, fresh clothing, somewhere to bathe, a bed to sleep on. And I'm taking advantage of their kindness.

I can't afford to stay in one place though. I can't afford to trust them. They might have contacted the General already, soldiers on their way to house as I stand here debating my morals.

Drawing in a quick breathe, attempting to quell the nervous buzz of anxiety, I hop to the open doorway. My injured ankle is useless. And each step on it is like a blade splintering into my thigh.

I'll never get anywhere. And if I'm caught, I won't be able to outrun any soldiers. They have weapons. Speed. Numbers.

I have nothing.

Which is why I have to find somewhere to hide. Something to defend myself with.

Finally, I make it to the door jamb, sagging against it the second I get there.

No plan. No anything. I have nothing but a list of all the things I have to do, with no way to get them done. But it has to happen, somehow.

With the house plan memorised, I know how to get to the front door. But I know it won't be that easy. I have to sneak past all the rooms, where they're all sleeping, to get there.

It'd be so easy to just stay asleep and risk being caught. To spend longer accepting food and shelter. Yet, as I move through the hallway, wincing with every step all while leaning against the wall for support, I know it can't happen. I have to get home. I have to keep surviving. For dad and Jaylee.

Slowly, I make my way around the corner. By some miracle, I pass the closed bedroom doors without a sound. I hear the near-silent snoring coming from one room. The tossing and turning of sheets.