JUNE 2, MORNING
Each step away from Skye felt loaded, like a magnet fighting its pull.
Don’t leave her alone.
The quiet thought made me pause. I almost turned back, retraced my steps.
But I didn’t.
Skye had asked me for space, for time alone. I kept moving, kept walking. Kept going through the motions. I boarded the train, took my seat, but my worry weight was too great to shake.
She’s fine, I told myself. After all, this girl was the same one who’d taken down a ninety-kilo cat with nothing but a rock and piece of twine.
That clear truth made me relax.
But the moment the train left the station, the whisper exploded in my head like a scream: DON’T LEAVE HER ALONE.
Too late, I thought, jumping to my feet.
I already had.