Chapter 1 — Desperate Escape
Miranda
The night pressed in like a suffocating shroud, the moonlight barely piercing through the thick canopy of trees above. Miranda’s breaths came in short, ragged gasps, her legs burning as she pushed herself forward over roots and uneven ground. The cold, damp air stung her lungs, a sharp reminder that she was alive—still alive, still running. Her bare feet, torn and bruised, sank into the loose earth with each painful step, sending bolts of agony up her legs. She clutched at the cool weight of the pendant beneath her shirt, the chain digging into her collarbone as if anchoring her to reality.
Behind her, the faint growl of an engine faded, swallowed by the vast, oppressive silence of the forest. The image of her father’s shadowed figure—his cold, calculating eyes catching hers as he paced the hallway—was seared into her mind. It had been a calculated risk, timing her escape for the brief moment his back was turned, but now every snapping twig and rustling leaf sent adrenaline surging through her veins, the phantom echo of his voice chasing her. She gripped the pendant tighter through the fabric of her shirt, her fingers trembling. Keep going. Don’t stop.
The forest shifted ahead, opening just enough to reveal a narrow dirt road. Miranda froze, her heart hammering in her chest as her eyes darted toward the shadows. The road felt like a trap—wide, open, exposed. Crossing it would paint a target on her back. But staying still wasn’t an option. Her body shook as she forced herself to take a step, then another. The rough scrape of gravel beneath her raw feet sent a jolt through her, but she pushed forward, darting across and disappearing back into the cover of trees on the other side.
The darkness seemed thicker here, the forest denser. Her head swam, her vision blurred as black spots began to encroach at the edges. Somewhere ahead, through the tangled branches, a faint light flickered. It seemed impossibly far away, yet her mind latched onto it with desperation. Safety. Help. She staggered toward it, limbs shaking with exertion, every movement clumsy and strained.
Her foot caught on an exposed root, and she pitched forward, her knees slamming into the hard ground. A cry escaped her lips before she clamped her hand over her mouth, stifling the sound. The sharp sting of the fall radiated through her legs, and hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead into the damp earth. For a moment, she lay there, her chest heaving, the wet soil chilling her already trembling body. A memory surged up unbidden—her father’s voice, calm and sharp, the way he’d told her she’d only ever leave in pieces. The thought sliced through her like a knife.
Not now. Not yet.
Her fingers dug into the soil as she forced herself to her knees, the faint light shimmering like a fragile beacon in the distance. Each step toward it felt heavier than the last, her body teetering on the edge of collapse. As the light grew closer, it revealed itself as the glow of a building’s entrance. A hospital.
Her pulse quickened. Hospitals were supposed to be safe—places of healing, of refuge. But what if they weren’t? Doubts clawed at her mind, cruel whispers of her father’s reach. What if they called someone? What if he was already waiting? Her feet stilled, digging into the forest floor as her body wavered between retreat and surrender.
The light seemed to pull her forward despite her fear. Step by step, she approached, the sounds of the forest fading into the hum of mechanical whirs and the faint hiss of automatic doors. The glass doors loomed ahead, streaked with fingerprints and rain. Her reflection wavered in the glass—a pale, gaunt figure with hollowed eyes and tangled hair, someone she barely recognized.
Her knees buckled as soon as she stepped inside, the rush of warm, sterilized air hitting her like a tidal wave. The fluorescent lights above blurred, the hum of voices blending into a dim, distant haze. Miranda crumpled to the floor, clutching the pendant like a lifeline. Faintly, she heard someone call out, their voice steady and firm, but darkness swept her away before she could respond.
*
The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor filtered in first, steady and sharp against the haze of unconsciousness. The antiseptic scent of the room followed, clean and cloying. Miranda’s eyes snapped open, and panic bloomed in her chest as she sat bolt upright. Pain flared through her muscles, sharp and insistent.
“Take it easy.”
Her head whipped toward the voice, her pulse pounding in her ears. The man standing at the foot of the bed had a calm, steady presence that seemed to fill the room. He was tall, his scrubs neatly pressed but betraying long hours through a slight weariness in his stance. His piercing blue eyes, though tired, watched her with a careful intensity.
“You’re safe now,” he said, his tone low and deliberate. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
Safe. The word sounded foreign, fragile. She couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Her fingers twisted the blanket pooled in her lap as her gaze darted around the room, searching for any sign of danger.
“My name is Dr. Mason Griffin,” he continued, his voice measured. “You collapsed outside the emergency room. Do you remember that?”
She gave a small, hesitant nod, her throat dry and aching.
“Do you know where you are?” he asked.
“Hospital,” she rasped, the word barely audible.
“That’s right,” Mason replied, his tone steady but soft. “You’re dehydrated and have some minor injuries, but nothing life-threatening. You’ll be okay.” He paused, and his gaze didn’t waver as he added, “Can you tell me your name?”
Her fingers tightened around the blanket. Giving her name felt dangerous, like peeling back the last layer of protection she had left. The silence stretched between them, taut with tension.
“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” Mason said gently. “But if there’s anyone I can call—”
“No,” she said sharply, the word tumbling out before she could stop it. “No one.”
Mason didn’t flinch at her tone. He simply nodded, as though he’d expected resistance. Pulling a chair closer, he sat down, his movements deliberate and unthreatening.
“Whatever you’re running from,” he said quietly, “you’re safe here. No one will hurt you.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Miranda’s chest tightened, her breath catching in her throat. She glanced down at the pendant resting against her chest, the green glass catching the room’s sterile light and scattering faint rainbows across the blanket. Her fingers brushed against it, remembering the way her mother’s hands had fastened it around her neck so many years ago.
“I… I can’t stay,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “They’ll find me.”
Mason’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but his expression remained calm. “Who?”
Her gaze dropped back to the pendant. She didn’t answer.
Mason leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have a house outside of town,” he said, his tone steady but low. “It’s quiet, secluded. I can take you there, just for a little while. Until you figure out your next steps.”
Her head jerked up, suspicion flashing in her eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Mason said simply, his gaze unwavering. “And because I’ve seen too many people fall through the cracks. You don’t have to trust me, but at least let me help.”
She studied him, searching for any flicker of deceit. All she saw was quiet determination, a kind of patience that unnerved her. Her chest tightened, the weight of mistrust warring with the faintest glimmer of hope.
“Okay,” she whispered at last, the word so soft it barely registered.
Mason nodded and stood, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders with a gesture so careful it surprised her. “Get some rest. We’ll leave in the morning.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, Miranda sank back into the pillow, her body trembling with exhaustion. The pendant felt warm against her chest, its green glass refracting tiny shards of light onto the ceiling. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the flicker of hope didn’t feel quite so distant.
