Page 82 of A Murder of Crows

I swore it.

And I break that promise, smash it into pieces, as the soft thudding of earth landing on my coffin sounds above me.

I don’t want to die in the dark.

The tears come fast, salty and damp as I try to stop myself from breathing too deeply, trying to conserve oxygen. Try not to make any noise in case they hear it, use it to taunt the people I’m leaving behind.

I will never be able to tell Dante the truth.

I will never be able to rest my head against Dom’s shoulder again.

I will never sit next to Luc in our secret space and ask him about the daggers.

And I’ll never—

No.

I refuse to taint any of those memories.

And as they bury me in the cold, dark earth, I close my eyes. Steady myself.

I am Caterina Corvo. And I will not die screaming.

Instead, I start counting the minutes.

Waiting for it to be over.

Chapter forty-three Luciano

Ipush another branch out of the way, snapping it as I force my way through the dense undergrowth. The seconds are ticking too quickly, time slipping away.

There is no noise to help guide me. Nothing aside from the wind in the trees, nothing that will give me an indication of where she might be. Nothing but the whistle of the breeze, the rustle of leaves brushing against each other above my head.

At any other time, it would be soothing. But not now, not with the perspiration building at the back of my neck, the desperation threatening to choke me.

Because if I fail - if Dante fails – if neither of us can find her in these godforsaken fucking woods, she will not survive the night.

The notion is impossible. I will not allow that to happen.

I’m coming, little crow. You just need to hold on until I get there.

My breathing turns rough and jagged, my footsteps sinking into the dirt as my legs break into a run.

Snap.

My head turns, and I stop short. Listening. Ears straining, my eyes scanning the trees on my right.

Another snap. A sound that doesn’t belong here,

This sound is human. The shuffle that follows as they try to stay silent only makes it more obvious, and I change direction, carefully making my way off the worn path. Stopping to listen.

More than one set of footsteps walks through these woods. A group.

My gun is a reassuring weight in my hand, and my finger slips onto the trigger. Waiting.

Ready to start a war, if I need to.

But the noises move away from me, fading away into the distance. As if they’re returning to the campus.