13

The chill of the night, snowy air hits my face as I step onto the street, but I barely feel it. I’m too busy wiping the tears from my cheeks, my chest constricting with uneven breaths. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel like a damn puppet—I feel alive.

I slide into the car, slamming the door behind me, my breath fogging the icy interior. The key turns in the ignition with a metallic growl, the engine sputtering to life. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Blaise exiting the building, his figure stark against the snow swirling in the air. I don’t even glance in his direction. Instead, I grip the wheel tightly and pull away, the tires spinning briefly on the slippery ground before catching.

The snow falls heavier by the second, thickening the air and muffling the world around me. My headlights carve narrow tunnels through the storm, but the roads ahead are a ghostly blur, empty and unfamiliar. I have no destination, no plan, just the instinct to get the fuck away from here.

I can’t go back to my place—not yet. My dad will find out, and his reaction could go one of two ways: lose his mind at me or kill Blaise. Either scenario feels equally exhausting, and on Christmas Eve, I can’t be bothered with either. So, I just drive, aimlessly, letting the road unfold in front of me.

Before long, the Christmassy city fades into the rearview mirror, replaced by winding, white-draped backroads leading into the woods. The trees press in on either side, their dark forms blurred by the relentless snowfall. The farther I go, the more I feel the pull of isolation, the hum of the tires blending with the sound of my ragged breaths.

Then it happens—a flicker on the dash, a red light blinking urgently. Low gas.

I frown, my brows knitting in confusion. How the hell is that possible? I thought I had almost a full tank when I left Blaise’s apartment.

Shifting in my seat, I glance at the gauge, my heartbeat quickening as the needle sinks lower with each mile. It doesn’t make sense, but there’s no time to question it. My focus sharpens to now finding a gas station, but the snowy backroads extend endlessly, winding further into the unknown.

The unavoidable happens far too soon. The engine stammers, a jarring cough, and then silence. The car glides forward sluggishly before I steer it to the side of the road. My hands slam against the wheel, a growl of frustration ripping from my throat.

The road is deserted, the world silent and still. I glance around, the eerie glow of a single streetlight illuminating the otherwise pitch-black area. The snow glistens beneath it, falling in hypnotic swirls, blanketing the road. I grip the wheel, my chest tightening. Alone, in the middle of nowhere, on Christmas Eve.

Great. Just fucking great.

I reach for my bag on the passenger seat, fingers fumbling for my phone. My thumb hovers over my dad’s number, instinct kicking in. He’s who I’d normally call in an emergency. But tonight, I hesitate.

Instead, I swipe to another name—Rook. My breath stops as I stare at it, his name glowing against the dim light of the screen. The rational part of me knows better, but desperation wins out and with a shaky exhale, I press call.

The phone goes to my ear, the cold surface chilling my skin, but all I hear is an empty beep before the line cuts out.

Fuck.

I lower the phone, frustration bubbling, only to notice the signal bar glaring back at me—empty. My jaw clenches as I toss the phone onto the seat, then lean back for my boots on the floor behind me. Pulling them free, I kick off my heels, their delicate straps useless for the icy road. Slowly, I lace up the boots around my legs and once I’m ready, I grab my phone and push open the door. The night greets me with a freezing bite, the snow falling in thick, heavy flakes. It clings to my hair, my fur jacket, but I ignore it, keeping my head down.

The stillness presses against me as I circle to the front of the car, my eyes glued to the signal bar, waving the phone uselessly in the air. Nothing. No bars, no movement.

I glance up, scanning the deserted road. No headlights, no distant hum of an engine. No one.

Then, I feel something uneasy creep up my spine suddenly, and I look the other way.

Beneath the streetlight, a tall, shadowy figure stands still, bold against the falling snow. My breath holds as my eyes fix on them. They don’t move, don’t acknowledge me, just stand there, letting the snow pile on their broad frame.