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It takeshours before I hit the road, the black asphalt stretching toward town. It’s then that I almost stop. Give up and wait for them to find me. What was I thinking? The House of Night is too remote, too far outside Forsyth. It’s almost like it’s planned. Another way to keep me isolated, keep me in their cage.

I’m walking the shoulder of the main road when headlights slice through the dark. I don’t even flinch when the sedan slows. It purrs to a stop beside me, hazard lights blinking orange in the trees.

The passenger window hums down.

It’s a woman. Late thirties maybe. Blonde, tired, kind-looking in a hard sort of way. The kind of face that’s seen shit and doesn’t bother pretending otherwise.

She leans over the seat and squints. “Sweetheart… do you need help?”

The dome light makes her eyes look soft, that’s why I don’t run back into the forest. This is not the Beast. Not the King or a Baron or my uncle.

I nod.

“I’m trying to get home.”

She unlocks the door. I slide into the seat, trembling, trying not to wince when the soft upholstery touches my legs. I’m filthy, inside and out, and now I’m getting that filth on this woman’s seat. She glances at me again. Closer now. Really sees me. The bruises. The dirt. The roll of tissue wrapped around my forearm. The blood dried under my fingernails. I wait for her to ask what happened. She doesn’t.

“You sure you’re okay?” she says instead, gently.

I nod again. “Just… just take me to the Hexley estate. Just off Forsyth campus.”

That gets a flicker from her. A glance. Not shocked. Not confused. Just something wary and knowing in the corners of her mouth. She pulls back onto the road.

The car smells like vanilla and the radio plays something soft and instrumental–a song that sounds familiar, like I’ve heard it before. The heater hums. I wrap my arms around myself and close my eyes for a second, letting the warmth bake into my aching skin.

“Are you a student at the college?” she asks.

“Yes.” I watch the trees become thinner the closer we get to town.

I look down at the water bottle in the holder between the seats. “Take it,” she says, “you must be thirsty.”

I grab the bottle and unscrew the cap, gulping down the water. I remember the last time I had something to drink was when the King forced me to take the pill.

“I went to Forsyth once,” she says. “A long time ago. Left after my junior year.” Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “Things were dangerous when I was there. A killer was on the loose. They called him the Forsyth Carver. One of the girls in my dorm was a victim.”

I watch her profile, take in the curve of her cheekbones.

“They caught the guy. But not until he killed his wife and himself, right in front of their little boy. Everyone thought things would be different. Safer, but it never felt that way, not really.” She adds, “The worst kind of people hide in plain sight and they’re the type that see a pretty girl walking barefoot after dark, and think she’s an invitation.”

I swallow, then whisper. “I’m not.”

“No,” she says quietly. “You’re not.”

Neither of us speak after that.

She turns onto the driveway. I wonder if she’s dropped someone off here before. Or if she just knows the way. The Manor looms ahead, cold and gray. Imposing. No lights but one, burning in the library.

The car stops, but she doesn’t kill the engine.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

I reach for the door. Nod again. “Thank you. For the ride.”

But before I can slip out, she puts a hand gently on my wrist. Her fingers are cool. Dry. She doesn’t squeeze, just holds me there a second longer than necessary.

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” she says. “Especially not the men in this town.”

Then she lets me go. I shut the door behind me. The car idles for a moment longer, then backs down the drive and vanishes into the dark, leaving me staring at tail lights so long that I’m not sure the car ride even happened. If that woman even existed.