Kiara
I
’d been running for days. The search for my mother had led me all the way from Montana to the forests of Colorado, and I was so close to finding her that some nights, I swore I heard her voice coming out of the darkness. She was waiting for me, and from wherever she was, whoever had taken her, I was going to rescue her.
The last time I’d seen her was months ago when she helped me escape. My beautiful mother, with her wavy silver hair hanging off her shoulders, looking exhausted and disheveled after we ran from the warehouse we were kept in—that was the image that drove me forward. “Kiara,” she said desperately as the dragons searched for us with flashlights, “run, hide, don’t ever look back. Don’t come for me. I’ll make my way back to you, I promise.”
If I were younger, it w
