Page 27

27

I STOOD IN A FIELD.

A chilly wind blew across my skin, blades of grass tickling my ankles in its wake.

Moonlight illuminated the scene. Trees lined the perimeter in the far distance, and a low-rolling fog obscured the edges of my sight. Clouds swept in front of the moon, bathing the scene in blue gray, muting the colors of the landscape into grayscale.

I took a step, my bare feet sinking into the wet soil, and I shivered in the damp cold. The air smelled like a mixture of rain and fresh mud, with a hint of sulfur and metal.

Oh no.

Fear shuddered through me as I looked up and saw the figure of a girl lying in the meadow.

No.

I didn’t want to see this.

I shuffled forward anyway, unable to stop.

Juana raised her head. Her golden-brown hair fell around her in wild tangles. Her eyes were wide and scared. The scant light from the moon illuminated the blood spattered across her face. Her blouse was stained dark red. Her jeans were soaked. Crimson seeped from deep wounds in her torso and slashes across her arms.

“Please,” she said, her voice weak. She pushed herself up. Her arms trembled.

“Please,” she begged again, raising her hand. Her palm was streaked with bright white and blood red. She hoisted herself to her knees but flopped sideways with a gasp after only a moment.

Familiar voices shouted in the distance. A bush rustled off to the side. Twigs snapped in the forest.

My gut wrenched. I hesitantly stepped closer, despite everything screaming inside me to look away. To stop.

“Please,” she whimpered again, but it was barely a whisper.

I couldn’t reassure her. I couldn’t do anything, impotent with fear.

Juana stilled. Her body lost all tension, and her eyes slid half closed, staring unblinkingly through the grass… at me.

My heart lodged in my throat. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run, but my feet were stuck fast, sinking into the viscous swamp mud. I wanted to do anything, but all I could do was stare as her breath stuttered to a halt.

Just as before, my gaze dropped to the object I held at my side. My fingers curled around the handle of the weapon. Not my fingers—fingers that had been holding my hand only moments before. Mateo’s fingers were wrapped around the ornate handle of a silver knife.

The blade gleamed in the scant moonlight; the sharp edge was tinged red with Juana’s blood.