I exhale like the wind was just knocked out of me. Stiff as a statue, fear freezes my numb feet to the ground. The Outlander doesn't deem to respond, nor does he move. He only watches me with an expression on his face like he's trying to tell me something with the intensity of his gaze alone. Do we even speak the same language?

The Council's teachings ring in my head. Outlanders, according to our history books, are known to be savage and cruel, leaving destruction in their wake. Children in Herald sing nursery rhymes of Outlanders killing people and crushing their bones to mere powder. They want our resources for themselves and to destroy our sophistication, justice system and technology, along with the people who reside safely within Herald's boundaries. Such is why we need the wall—to keep Herald from these beastly Outlanders. People like this man.

But the man standing before me just looks dirt poor and injured, not menacing in the slightest.

As if reading my thoughts and wanting to prove me otherwise, the man lunges forward with renewed energy and grips my arm. His filthy fingernails digging into flesh melts my stupor as panic sweeps over me in a tidal wave. His frantic eyes plead with mine, his lips forming words I can't hear over my own screaming. I thrash and kick out at him, trying to shake him off. With a great shove from Markee, I break out of his grasp and take off, my only goal to get as far from him as possible. I won't let them take me, too.

I tear through the brush wailing and only look back to check if Markee is following me. The adrenaline coursing through my veins pushes me faster than I've ever ran. I don't feel the low-hanging tree branches swatting me in the face.

I don't know how long I've been running, but heat broils in my chest. My breaths are harder to pull in and my heartbeat pounds in my temples. I can't hear anything over the wind and the blood rushing in my ears. All my senses are overloaded by one thought: there is an Outlander in Herald, and I was in his dirty, savage hands.

By the time I realize there is someone running toward me, it is too late to stop. With a gruesome smack, I fly backwards and onto the ground.

On the woodland floor for the second time today, I peek through my eyelids at the canopy above me, vision spotted with colored orbs of light. My head is spinning although I'm lying flat on my back. Slow, creeping panic pulls me back into my body.

I scramble in the dirt, heels digging into the rich soil, trying my best to back away from the figure sitting up and crawling over to me. All I seem to do is corner myself in the hollow of a tree trunk, scratching my back on the rough bark.

I'm trapped.

With no other options, I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my knees up to my chest and cover my head with my arms.

"Please don't hurt me," I lament, tears stinging the scratches on my cheek.

"Sophie, it's me," says a familiar voice. I peek through squinted eyes and find a dark green military uniform. He's not just any soldier, but one on border patrol, discerned by the gold markings on the sleeves. I lift my blurry gaze to meet his warm brown eyes.

"Miles," I sob, springing into his muscular arms and wetting the front of his stark green shirt with my tears. Miles is here. My childhood friend and goofball soldier. The boy who has known me and Markee longer than anyone, and is the rock I am currently clinging to.

"What happened?" The concern in his voice injects fear back into my bones. I gasp, trying to catch my breath and failing. Anxiety squeezes my chest until my vision tunnels. I am one second away from tipping over the edge of a cliff when Markee breaks through the trees.

"There's an Outlander chasing us!" Markee exclaims, bending with hands on her knees to suck in great gulps of air. I feel Miles stiffen, her words sending alarm through him.

"Are you sure?" he asks, and Markee's curls bounce as she nods. Miles curses, unclipping the walkie-talkie secured to his belt and speaks into it, reporting an Outlander Sighting in some jumble of letters and numbers which I only barely register. Glancing at his watch, he spouts off coordinates before returning the device to his belt.

Miles grips my shoulders gently and pulls me back and meets my eyes, then his searching gaze travels down my limbs. His gaze is innocent, but it still causes a blush to rise to my already heated cheeks. "Are you hurt? We hit each other pretty hard."

I shake my head no, my fear causing my voice to shake along with my body. "He tried to grab me, Miles," I whisper, my voice trembling as much as I am. "He was going to take me away. Just like they took Rhett." I choke on the name. Now that my thoughts have turned into words floating in the tension between us, icy realization of what was barely avoided washes over the three of us. Miles exhales audibly, as if punched in the gut. Markee freezes, not even blinking. I start to hyperventilate.

Miles takes my face in his hands and lowers his gaze to meet mine. "No one is going to take you, Sophie. Do you hear me? No one." His spicy scent engulfs me as he pulls me to his shoulder and strokes my hair, coaxing me to breathe. Miles' once-steady hands are now trembling against my ear and I know he's remembering. I know this because I'm remembering. I will never forget what happened to Rhett.

Markee paces, looking around as if expecting the Outlander to pop out of the surrounding bushes. "Can we leave, please? He could still be here."

"Can you stand?" Miles asks gently, and I nod. The movement makes me wince. Now that the adrenaline has run its course and is no longer feeding me strength, each slowing beat of my heart sends a new sharp pain through my head.

With a little help from Miles, I stand and the three of us walk out of the forest, over the levee, and into Herald where the sun is shining brightly, mockingly, as we push back the pain of remembering Rhett.