Page 42 of The Last Feast

But Hana has set off a course of events she’ll never understand the magnitude of as the new handlers arrive, mere minutes from catching the red-haired woman dragging Auguste’s body to the old storm cellar hidden under the forest floor away from the burning cabin.

Three miles away from each other, they tear themselves apart—Hana on the brink of death as the flames grow taller inthe room she trapped herself inside and Auguste pledging an oath he doesn’t believe in.

After walking away from the window, she pulled on the mask she made from Martha’s face as her last act of defiance. Even when she’s dead and ash, the last person who saw her will be the man who crawled underherskin to make a home inside her chest. She comforted herself with the memory of Auguste giving her a fake name as she laid beneath him. If he was Jamie Adams, they’d have a different ending. She wouldn’t be Hana; she’d be someone new with opportunities for more. She couldn’t fathom what that more was as the last dregs of her consciousness slipped away, yet she found comfort in the idea of there being more to life than death.

Helicopter blades whirr, wind pushing through the blown out windows, as she remains stuck in her dream of a new life, a different life with everything she didn’t know she wanted—the man with a cake voice and a woman without scars in a tomorrow-less world. They’d live deep in the maze with their own reflections as an audience, illuminating every path so they will never be deceived again.

The rotting flesh has warmed, sticking to her features to cover her as soot clings to her naked body. But outside of the burning cabin, the helicopter lands. A man steps down, dressed in a suit, and he pulls his leather gloves taut to his skin before bringing his phone to his ear. “It’s burning.”

He watches the flames spit through the cracked windows, searching for a flash of red hair while Hana continues breathing tainted air. His role is to collect the red-haired woman, but he receives a new order. “Search the property.”

Ending the call, he takes steady steps through the melting snow to the back of the property. All the accelerants have been concentrated in the soundproof box, on Erik’s body, and by thefront door, but he disregards them entirely. Sacrificing a pawn is expected in the game the competing handlers have created.

Hana’s heart rate slows as the mask she made begins curling on the edges from the heat. She slowly comes back to consciousness, and her eyelashes get caught on the limp eyelids of Martha’s skinned face. But she smiles at the triumph of having a tomorrow. They may not have been able to go through the normal stages of a relationship, but Hana didn’t mature with time, so she knows those experiences are enough to fill a lifetime.

Her lashes flutter as she weakly coughs, clinging to the memory of Auguste bound, on his knees, and staring up at her in awe. After eighteen years waiting for death, telling herself she can make it to tomorrow to get through the abusive days of her childhood, she’s close to freedom. Yet, she can’t bring herself to regret allowing another tomorrow with Auguste, waking up in the same bed as him instead of curled up on a filthy floor with blood and bruises as a blanket. No, she had her last feast filled with every ounce of care and control she’d been denied since birth. So, she slips into sleep with a smile on her face rather than fearful of any dream she may have.

Footsteps pound through the house as the handler rushes to find the product Lucille wanted to destroy to satiate her ego after being insulted.

Unlike her guardians, Hana wasn’t aware killing them was a mercy. Where she saw revenge, they received an escape from the punishment that would come for allowing Hana to bring attention to the complex business of selling children under the guise of being placed into loving homes from the orphanage they were trained in.

He races up the burning staircase and goes straight to the guest bedroom, since The Order sent a recording of the girl standing in the flames to taunt the handlers. The scaldingdoorknob burns through his leather gloves as he holds his suit jacket over his mouth to prevent breathing in the harsh smoke. When he slowly cracks the door open to stop the flames from spreading, he sees her—a little bundle surrounded by damp towels from her fight to stay alive, like a little bug that tucked itself away from the ashes.

He gently scoops her up the way a father would a child and buries her face in his chest to prevent her inhaling any more smoke. He carefully steps through the flames licking up the walls, avoiding the crackling floorboards giving way around the fortified steel beams keeping the cabin standing.

Hana chokes when they get outside, and he walks to the awaiting helicopter then sits on the leather bench with her over his thighs. With his non-singed hand, he gently rubs circles on her chest as he whispers, “It’s okay. Keep breathing, zuzúni.”

She continues choking as the man places an oxygen mask on her face. He covers her naked body with a silver blanket to trap the warmth as the helicopter tilts, slowly pulling up.

Only managing to open one eye, she finds a fractured image of pale blue eyes.

The man whispers, “Just breathe.”

She nods and asks, “Who?”

“What’s your name?”

“My name is…” Her breathing is harsh, but he’s patient. She coughs, her lungs burning after breathing the smoke-tainted air for so long.

25

REBORN

“My name is Sasha.”

THE END.

For now…