DAY NINETEEN, I THINK? IT’S HARD TO TELL

I

It doesn’t matter, does it? None of it matters.

“Happy birthday.”

Saffron gasped for air, spluttering and coughing as she held onto life.

Nothing matters.

“Saffie?”

She shot her eyes open, finding a world that had turned on without her once more. She tried to orient herself to find some sort of stability, some sort of reality.

“You all right?”

She ran her hands through her knotted hair as she looked around. “It’s turning into me. It’s-it’s—”

“Saffie?”

“Dad?”

She was sitting next to her dad on the old yet comfortable couch again. But this time the room was busier. Other prisoners and their visitors were sitting around them, chatting with one another. The room was full of noise, laughter, and light. So much light was streaking in from the windows at the top of the room.

Light. It was morning. That meant she was safe. Right? That meant I couldn’t hurt her yet. Right? That meant she had a day to plan out her next moves, to decide what she would do next. Wrong.

“You keep dozing off. Have you been sleeping?” Her dad tried to catch her eye.

She hurriedly looked around the room, searching the shadows for me. But she couldn’t see me. Not yet. She took a breath as she realised I wasn’t there. For now.

“Saffie?”

She knew she needed a better way to protect herself, like how Curtis had used a dagger to stop his caliginent. Did that even work for him? Did he manage to kill his caliginent in the end? Oh, wait. You haven’t read the ending, have you? You can’t face the ending, can you? You can’t face the fact that he’s dead and it’s all your fault.

“Saffie?”

“Dad?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Get yourself together. “Shut up. I’m fine.”

“All right then.” He gestured to the small table next to the couches. “Do you want some?” A sweet-smelling cake sat on it, with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAFFIE” written in one of her little sisters’ handwriting.

It’s your birthday? “It’s today?”

“Last time I checked.”

So it was day nineteen. Let’s start that again.