(Isla)
I was so tired.
It had been weeks of walking. Sleeping in ditches. Eating berries and stolen bread that sat like stones in my gut. My boots were split at the soles, my feet wrapped in rags I’d torn from the hem of my shirt. Every step felt like dragging chains.
The bakery in the human town was three days behind me. Three days since I’d slipped out through the back window, the scent of yeast and cinnamon still clinging to my hair. I left the night I saw the poster. My face, sketched in rough charcoal, pinned to the notice board beside WANTED. Zayden’s doing. I knew his handwriting even in the reward amount.
I couldn’t risk it. Not with him looking.
So I ran. Again.
I needed somewhere new. Somewhere far. Somewhere his influence didn’t reach like smoke through every pac
