Miinhart Forest, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

Darkness had fallen, heavy and thick, cloaking the forest like a blanket. Annabella marched through the trees, straining to see in the inky darkness, her ears alert for any sound out of the ordinary. More than once, she thought she heard someone following her, but the sound was nothing but a trick of her imagination. Even so, her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, prepared to draw it at any time.

The trek between Brittgard and Sarum took her the entirety of the night. To her benefit, the terrain was easy to navigate, mostly flat and with few hills, so she was able to keep up her fast pace. She knew this part of the Miinhart Forest like an old friend; she had travelled this path several times over the last few years. She knew where the Crooked Tree was, having named it a dear friend when climbing it had saved her from being spotted by patrols a year back; and she knew where the Hovel was, an abandoned beaver lodge that was well-hidden and made a good spot to hide. She prided herself in knowing where every food source was, whether animal or fruit, between Brittgard and Englecon Mountain. Annabella was a survivor, and she wouldn't let anyone else say otherwise.

As she travelled, she couldn't help but think of Luke. He had been her friend almost seven years now, ever since she had stumbled into Brittgard in the dead of winter, cold and hungry and on the verge of collapse. Instead of turning her in, the people of the town hid her. That was how she had met Luke Reiter, for he also was an Illegal, hidden in a secret basement beneath his mother's house. She had stayed with them for several days until Motch's search for her had become too intense. She could still remember that night, wrapped tightly in Mrs. Reiter's cloak as she made her dangerous escape to Sarum alone. She had only been nine years old. It had been the last time she had seen Luke for three years. Over the past four, their friendship had grown — and maybe too far. Cutting it off as she had may have been rash, but she didn't know what else to do. She convinced herself that she had done Luke a favour and that putting him and their relationship behind her was the best decision. Loving her and being loved by her was a mistake.

Everyone she loved died in the end. Luke didn't deserve that cruel fate.

It was still dark when Annabella reached Sarum. It was a little town, practically a village: a cluster of houses and shops in a clearing in the trees. The place had once been Annabella's home for three years before reality had crashed down around her yet again. She had learned at the tender age of thirteen that she had no home and that those she loved died. It was for this reason she cut off Luke — she never should have let him come close — and why she distanced herself from everyone she knew. Or, at least, she tried to. She lingered at the edge of the treeline, looking out into the small, quiet village, hesitant.

She could continue on — should continue on — find a place to sleep that didn't involve endangering those she cared about. But oh, her heart ached to see Tamara again. The woman had always treated her like a sister, and it was coming up on a year since she had last seen her. It seemed like such a shame to be so close and not stop in, and yet it was such a great risk. Then again, everything Annabella did was a great risk. She couldn't avoid that fact.

Cursing her bitter circumstances, Annabella finally made up her mind. Like a ghost, she slipped out of the cover of the trees and entered Sarum, staying to the shadows as she sought out Tamara's house. It was small, just one story tall and fit for one resident. Throwing caution to the wind, Annabella hurried up the front porch steps and tried the knob. The door was locked. Fishing the key out of the little notch in the siding near the door, she unlocked it, letting herself into the house and quietly closing the door behind her. The lock clicking back into place sounded like a loud clap in her ears.

The house was deathly quiet. Taking slow breaths, she looked around, drinking in the familiarity of the place. It hadn't changed much at all in a year. The kitchen was tidy, as usual, and the living room had only a rocking chair and a nightstand — a knitting project lay unfinished on the small table. A fireplace built into the wall sat empty and lifeless, though a stack of wood beside it suggested that Tamara had felt the approach of winter in the air. Annabella, too, had felt it, and knew it would be wise to collect her bundle of winter clothing from the Hovel before the worst of winter hit.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She would do that after she finished her mission.

Rubbing her shoes on the mat, she looked around before slowly stepping forward, away from the door. As she did, she heard a noise. She froze, her heart leaping into her chest as she heard boots thumping up the porch steps outside. She moved without thinking, throwing herself toward Tamara's bedroom door as rude banging on the door broke through the silence.

"It's patrol! Open up!"

Annabella cursed, stumbling into the kitchen and searching for the trapdoor she knew led down into Tamara's cellar. She had been spotted! She had just moved the mat away when she heard Tamara's bedroom door creak open. There Tamara was, dressed in a nightgown and robe, staring at Annabella in surprise and fear. Annabella inwardly cursed again, wishing she had turned and walked away from this place instead of putting others' lives in danger.

"Open up!"

Tamara's face washed from fear to determination; she pointed down below. "Get!" she whispered, rushing over and helping Annabella lift the trapdoor. A gaping hole in the floorboards greeted them, and Annabella wasted no time slipping down into it.

I'm sorry. She almost said the words, looking up at Tamara as she clambered down into the darkness. Tamara shut the door before the apology could escape. Annabella heard a muffled shout overhead. She could barely breathe. Oh, why had she been so stupid as to come here?

She moved through the cellar as quietly as she could, feeling the shelves with her hands as she found her way to the back of the cramped room. She knew the secret of this room: that there was another, a hidden door concealed to hide the most precious things in life. Annabella made her blind way toward it. Her foot found the sack of potatoes, and she pushed it aside, feeling for the door. She couldn't tell where it was, so she tapped a quiet code on the wall, hoping it had been heard.

A wooden panel slid aside, and dull light met her eyes. She crawled forward into the room, tugging the potato sack back into place behind her before sliding the panel shut again. Then she turned to the three-year-old child who had opened the door for her.

"Bethany," she breathed, astonished by how much the little girl had grown. She was scrawny but looked nourished enough, her ebony hair long and eyes wide in her round, thin face. She looked so much like Tamara, but Annabella could see Reagan in those stone-grey eyes and in the way she watched Annabella with a calm gaze void of fear. He had given her a look just like that the day he had been killed. Trusting. Willing.

He had never gotten to know his little girl because of her.

Annabella would have understood if Bethany hadn't recognized her — it had been nearly a year since her last visit — but Bethany's face lit up at the sight of her. "Bella!"

She welcomed the child into her arms, holding her tightly against her as she heard a crashing sound overheard. She sat against the panel, holding her breath. Her heart pounded a staccato beat within her chest as she heard Tamara's pleading voice and then a shout. The trapdoor creaked open. Bethany stiffened, aware of the danger; her breathing became fast and fearful. Annabella hugged her even tighter, knowing the little girl sensed her fear. Tamara was talking, but she couldn't make out her words. Boots thudded the ladder as someone came down into the cellar.

Then everything went silent. All Annabella could hear was her heartbeat. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Creator, help us! Please!