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I slip out, moving away from the men as quickly as I dare. When I step into the swamp, it greets me like an old adversary. The moon hangs low, smothered by drifting clouds. The swamp glows silver and black, a twisted reflection of the world I just escaped. A chorus of crickets and frogs fills the night, their calls echoing through the dense thicket of trees. Spanish moss drapes from gnarled branches like the tattered veils of ghostly brides, swaying gently in the breeze.

The air clings, thick and wet, pressing against my skin like Juan’s hands once did—unrelenting, suffocating. Every breathis thick, heavy with the swamp’s perfume—wet earth, decaying leaves, something that smells too much like death. The swamp’s alive in ways that make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I tread carefully, avoiding the suck of mud that threatens to claim my steps. Somewhere, an owl hoots, a sentinel in the darkness. It’s a reminder that there are eyes everywhere, watching, waiting, but I don’t care. I’d rather take my chances here than go back and endure torture. Juan may have started his attack with words, but I’ve seen how quickly his mood can flip.

Trudging through the brackish water, I search for solid ground. I’m not sure how far I am from a road, but I’ll find one eventually. No matter how long it takes, there has to be a way back to civilization.

As time marches on, the cloud layer thickens. The sudden darkness swallows the last vestiges of my courage. I stumble through the underbrush, my boots sinking into the soft, treacherous ground. The bayou doesn’t care about my desperation. It’s a silent, indifferent witness to my escape.

Branches snatch my hair and clothes like grasping fingers, clawing at me, taunting me to retreat, to go back the way I came. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could find the trail through the wilderness. Every tree looks the same now. Every bush is one more sentinel, laughing at my pitiful attempt to flee.

“Keep your head, Bella,” I whisper to myself, fighting off the disorientation that threatens to overwhelm me.

Every shadow seems to move, every sound’s a potential enemy. My heart skips wildly in my chest, each beat a reminder that I’m alone and vulnerable. But I’m not helpless. Even in the darkness, I don’t feel alone. Myabuela’sspirit guides me through the night. It’s as if she’s by my side, even though she’s been gone from this earth for many years.

Bolstered by her spirit, I scan for the telltale glint of water so I won’t fall in. Branches crack. Wildlife flees. Every sound could mean danger or salvation.

Suddenly, a soft rustling breaks the rhythm of the night, freezing me in place. It comes from the murky water to my left. My breath catches, hitching in my throat as I strain my ears, trying to decipher the source.

My body tenses, ready to bolt or fight. This swamp is a treacherous ally, cloaking both predator and prey in its gloom. I’m not familiar with the creatures hiding within it. I’m not confident that I’ll be able to tell the difference between an alligator’s stealthy slide and a snake’s slither. Freezing in place, I worry that my next heartbeat might be my last.

“Damn it,” I hiss, pushing past the fear.

I can’t afford to be paralyzed, not when freedom is within my grasp. I step back slowly, eyes darting, searching for the slightest movement in the ink-black water. Every second is an eternity, every snap of a twig sounds like a gunshot in the stillness. Even as the rustling fades behind me, my breath remains shallow and unsteady. Despite that, I keep moving.

Plodding on, my ankles protest with every step. The uneven ground of the swamp threatens to send me sprawling face-first into the muck. If I could just find a road, I’d be able to move much faster.

An hour later, I’m no closer to freedom. The bayou stretches endlessly, a breathing beast swallowing roads, footprints, and hope. The thought of being recaptured by Juan and his goons drives me forward, propelling each deliberate step. The fire in my blood refuses to let me be prey.

Thorns snag at my clothes, leaving thin red lines on my skin in their wake. I ignore the sting, focusing instead on the soft glow of hope flickering somewhere beyond the gnarled trees.Safety has to be out there—somewhere beyond this suffocating swamp.

My legs grow heavy as if the very earth is trying to claim me, drag me down. Sweat mixes with the grime on my skin, and I feel the slow burn of fatigue weaving through my muscles.

“You’re not gonna break me,” I whisper defiantly, pushing harder, forcing each leaden foot to obey.

Abuela’s voice whispers through the trees, fierce and unwavering: “Keep going,niña. Don’t let the monsters win.” She always said our family was made of tougher stuff than the world gave us credit for. It’s my duty to prove her right.

Each step feels like a victory and a defeat, all rolled into one. I’m escaping, sure, but at what cost? The physical toll is starting to get to me. I don’t know how much longer I can go on.

I hunch over, hands on my knees, lungs burning for air that’s too thick to soothe. The swamp is a tangle of trails and dead ends. No lights pierce the suffocating darkness. No distant hum of civilization reaches my ears. The incessant chirp of crickets is slowly driving me insane, while the occasional splash in the water isn’t helping to quell the terror building in my soul.

Glancing up through the trees at a small patch of sky, I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me. Is it lighter? How close is it to sunrise? When the swamp’s secrets are revealed in the light of day, will that help me or hurt me? Juan could track me faster in daylight, so I can’t wait. I must keep going.

The swamp seems endless, but I push through the mire, driven by a hope that feels both bright and brittle. With every cautious step, I leave behind my old life, moving closer to Ice. Closer to love.

I pause to catch my breath and search for a glimmer of light, any sign of a road, or any path to salvation. But there’s nothing—just the oppressive cloak of night, the weight ofsolitude, and the silent promise of dawn somewhere beyond the horizon.

Snap. A branch cracks, unnaturally loud. Then—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Coming closer. My blood turns cold.

Someone else is out here.

Chapter 22: Ice

The boat’s engine snarls, tearing through the swamp’s eerie stillness like a predator on the hunt. We spot a decrepit building squatting at the water’s edge. That’s got to be it. According to Pedro, this is where Juan brings his victims.

Vapor and I exchange a look—no words needed. We’ve done this a hundred times. Lock. Load. Kill. The others pick up on the intensity of the moment. They silently slip out of the boat into the water and wade toward shore.

“Too quiet,” I whisper, eyes scanning the area. No guards, no movement. My gaze drops to a series of well-delineated boot prints along the shore, a sure sign someone has been here recently. “Where are they?”