It wasn't the first time.

Satara had crossed the same road dozens of times before, looking right and then left, waiting for the little green man on the traffic light pole to light up. But she had been helping to clean up the Year Three classroom after a particularly messy art project and she would only make it home fast enough if she ran most of the way. The red man lit up as soon as she started running. On either side of the black and white lines she was crossing, several cars beeped in unison. She tried to back up as the closest one rolled towards her, its driver most likely pressured by the sounds. Momentum had carried her further than she thought and she hesitated in an ocean of asphalt concrete, her heart shaking.

Another car further up the road approached her. The pavement was too far away. The car didn't slow down. Its driver beeped his horn, sticking his head out of the window to shout at her. She didn't known which way to go any more. Everything was moving too fast.

Until a hand landed on her back, between her shoulder blades, propelling her forward until she stumbled onto the pavement. Another hand caught her by the upper arm before she could fall onto her knees but both vanished as soon as she was able to lift her head.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” asked a plump lady behind her. She shook her head. “You need to be careful when you're crossing the road. It's dangerous.”

“I – I know.” The lady asked her something else but a stillness on the other side of the busy road caught her eye.

An Asian girl, several years older than Satara, half turned to look at her.

She lifted an arm, her hand splayed in Satara's direction. Calling her over or warning her to stay back. It was impossible to tell what the gesture meant, her expression –

The plump lady took hold of her shoulder, demanding her attention, and her concern started to sound like irritation. “– Where's your mum?”

Thomas from her class was crossing the road, hand in hand with his dad, eyes inquisitively wide behind his glasses. Other kids she recognised from Years Two and Five also dotted the crowd that started to gather around her.

“She's at home.” Satara pulled her shoulder free and ran again, checking her watch.

She could still make it back home on time.

<><><><><>

She found me. Horror.

At last. Hope.

Satara turned her head to confirm the identity of the person on the other side of the road, bracing herself for a sudden end, silently bidding the world a passionless farewell. A bus rolled into sight between them and then it was gone along with the figure that had been standing opposite her. The breath tangled in her throat. The road was clear, speckled with people of all ages but mostly teenagers. The darkest shape belonged to someone on a motorbike but they were already on the other end of the road.

It can't have been that person. Satara scanned the road again, ignoring the ache in her chest. Where did she go? She was just – Jason grabbed her arm.

“We're going to miss the bus!” he exclaimed. “Hurry –”

She yanked her arm out of his hold, a warning nearly breaking across her face like a snarl. He flinched, features creased by confusion, but he still followed her across the road. She scanned the pavement again before boarding the double decker bus but nothing stood out to her. They showed their weekly tickets to the bus driver and found seats on the upper level right at the back.

She was here. That feeling was exactly the same as back then. Satara folded her arms over her stomach as a sudden bout of pain crept through it. That was definitely her. So why did she go? Because she can't do anything in front of so many witnesses?

“You okay?” Jason sat half a seat away from her, stretching his leg out into the aisle between the rows. His hand – the one he had used to take hold of her – danced agitatedly on his thigh.

“Yeah.” What if she doesn't need me to be completely alone? She might not be able to finish the job here but it's not like she's afraid to kill other people if she needs to. So if there were only one or two of them around … “I'm just – My stomach.”

“Oh, you've got a stomach ache?” His hand stopped bouncing and he dragged his bag into his lap. “I might have some Paracetamol in here –”

“It's okay.” She held up a hand. “I'll just go home.”

“You're not coming to club today?” Jason turned to her, mouth half open as if she had just confessed that she liked watching My Little Pony.

“Yeah.” She leant back in her seat as the bus started to move. The road and pavement below were still free of anyone suspicious-looking.

“But you nev – want me to skip with you?” He leaned towards her without crossing the line.

She shook her head. “No. You should go.”

“What if I just walk you home? I can catch another bus.”

“You'll be late if you do that.” She pressed her backpack to her chest. Her heart pulsed double time, as if it were beating alongside the heart of the white dragon design on the black material. “Just go. I'll be all right.”

“If you're sure –” He trailed off and his unhappiness was a lonely cat pressed against her left side.

“I'm sure.” She turned away from it but found her fingers clamped around the new headband in her pocket as if she had carried it for years. “Thanks, Jayce.”

<><><><><>

Jason took her seat by the window as she got off the bus, a road away from home. He pressed his fingers dramatically to the glass and smiled as if he could mask the anxiety in his eyes. She smiled back and lifted a hand as the bus pulled off. He flattened himself comically to the window until a bend in the road stole him from her sight.

Bye, Jayce. Keep fighting.

She tugged the straps of her backpack over her well defined shoulders and the street was too quiet. Probably because she didn't normally walk down it at this time of the day. Possibly because the person hunting her needed it to be deserted. The air was filled with transparent hands grasping her ankles and holding her at the bus stop so she could eternally bid her only friend goodbye. Pushing her towards the road even thought there were no cars. Pulling her around and forcing her to walk towards her fate.

She didn't need their help with any of it.

Her feet were almost soundless, each step muffled by mushed leaves. Beneath her hoodie, her skin recoiled from the pre-snow chill. It would probably fall later on that night. Or at least form frost tomorrow morning. An experience she might not get the chance to relive ever again.

What are you waiting for? I'll be home soon. Get it over and done with, she hissed silently. The Langs don't need to see. They don't deserve to go through something that. Not after all they've done.

She remembered the first time she travelled down the road the Langs lived on, staring out of the window of Mr Lang's car as her new foster parents discussed their future plans in the front seats. She had wondered how long it would take them to decide she was too gloomy, too quiet, too boyish to keep and send her back. The social worker had advised her to try her best this time. That she would go to high school soon so it was important for her to secure a relatively stable home before then. Satara wanted to tell her that she had never chosen to get kicked out of all the other foster families before then. Instead she had nodded and tried not to clutch her stomach so obviously.

They've put up with me for four years now. They don't deserve to die just because they looked after something they shouldn't have. Or have their house turned into a crime scene.

The road behind her was empty but the darkness pressed closer, smothering the sunlight as it touched rows of houses and stained their roofs red and gold. Scintillating green eyes and a wide, semi-honest grin floated across her thoughts. It suddenly occurred to her that unspoken words were bitter and she would rather not taste anything at all.

Most of the front gardens were framed by flower beds, dark and light green leaves flecked with red, pink, yellow, and many other colours. As a soft wind blew over her, she noticed the fragrance of the flowers for the first time. Light and oddly pleasant. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Something rumbled on the road beside her. She spun to face it – one hand rolled into a fist, the other held out like a tentative blade – and a flash of light momentarily blinded her.

I let my guard down. She clenched her teeth, squinting behind the shield of her arms until her eyes adjusted. Why isn't she doing anythi –?

A slowed down version of Fur Elise began playing. A tune she had always appreciated that now sounded like a haunting premonition. The headlights of the ice cream van rolled off her clumsy fighting stance and down the road, clueless of what it had just done to her. She straightened up, unbending her knees and lowering her arms. Clenching her other hand when she realised both were shaking. The pain in her stomach bubbled all the way up to her head and she released a surprisingly unsteady breath.

Ruining the last six years of my life isn't enough for you, huh? I'm not going to let you pull me around like this any more. Jason's headband had fallen out of her pocket and she picked it up, dusting it off harshly. Who drives an ice cream van in winter anyway?

She strode down the road, hands in her pockets, her hood half off her head. Despite her resolve, she slowed as the Langs' house appeared. The home of another middle class family in a street lined with them on both sides. The only very obvious difference from the outside was the sweet and savoury smell of dinner leaking from the windows along with the soft glow of the lamps within. Lo mein and kung pao chicken, cooked with lightly seasoned vegetables. One of her favourite meals. Mrs Lang hadn't made it in years.

Satara hesitated by the front gate as yet another pair of invisible hands pushed her way from the house. Not today. Her fingers crushed the strap of her backpack. I don't need this. Not tonight. She walked away from the gate, further down the road. But the allure of her final meal being one that she thoroughly enjoyed was stronger. If she was going to take me out before I got home, she would've done it already, wouldn't she? It's not like I can walk around forever until she makes a move.

“You're back early,” said Mrs Lang as soon as she opened the door, her tiny eyes flitted to the empty spaces on either side of Satara. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm just –” The shorter lady had already wandered off towards the kitchen in her grey apron and house slippers, leaving Satara to remove her shoes on the doormat and place them on the shoe rack. She berated herself for the ungrateful thoughts even as she thought them. Don't ask me a question unless you actually care about the answer.

“Good timing. Your dad's home too.” Normally, Mrs Lang would have leaned back in the kitchen door and checked her expression to make sure all was okay with her first. But somewhere around the five year mark, the little handfuls of consideration she silently cherished began to vanish one by one. “We can eat together.”

Satara edged closer to the doorway until she was sure she was in earshot. “I've actually – got a stomach ache. That's why I came home early.”

“A stomach ache?” Mrs Lang reappeared, holding a wooden spoon smeared with kung pao sauce like a bloodstained katana. “Does that mean you're not eating now?”

“Is it okay if I eat upstairs? In my room?” She shrugged off her backpack, holding it to her front.

It was against the household rules. All meals had to be eaten in the dining room and together with whoever else was in the house. Sickness was the only exception. Even snacks were moderated, though she was allowed to have those in her room. A family that ate together stayed together. Not for the first time, she wondered if that belief had slowly eroded over time because of her.

“Now?” She tensed internally at the question but then Mrs Lang's eyes glittered for a second, they way they used to. “Of course. I'll bring it up for you.”

“I can take it up by myse –” Mrs Lang waved her offer away.

“It's okay. I can't remember the last time you said something was hurting so it must be really bad. Just say hi to your dad before you go up, okay?”

Satara nodded. Another one of their family rules. Everyone in the house had to be greeted as long as they were on the lower floor. From what she had gathered over the years, it seemed to be a respect thing. Her insides seemed heavier that usual, though she couldn't tell whether they were weighed down by hunger or guilt. Shuffling over to the living room, she stayed by the door way and greeted Mr Lang with a short bow followed by a wave.

“I'm home.”

“Welcome back.” The tall man looked away from the busy TV screen. Normally he would have paused whatever he was watching. Or at least turned the volume down. “How come you're home so early?”

“I'm not feeling well.” The words caught on her tongue like a lie even before he peered at her face through his round glasses.

“Not well? You should go and rest then.” The absence of his further questions smoothed down the spike of her own words.

She nodded and made her way upstairs, past the tiny hanging pot of Devil's ivy they had bought to commemorate her first anniversary in their care and pictures of all three of them fixed to the stairway wall. How long will they wait before they take all of these down? Does it depend on how peacefully I go? The bottom of her backpack bumped up the steps alongside her. Either way, I won't be here very long.

<><><><><>

A field of Chinese silver grass waved like arms holding glow sticks aloft at a concert, moved by a gentle night breeze as opposed to a mellow music track. A full moon, brilliantly white and encircled by a gloriously large halo, watched from above, illuminating a strong hundred year old tree with bare branches. The tree sat atop a foggy hill, a tired sentinel for the ruined castle beside it, leaving its responsibility in the hands of the moon.

Touched by the light, the black and ancient castle changed its form like a mirage. It turned into a pagoda with mansion-like dimensions, its walls blood red scales and its roof, upturned on all sides, now a wicked black. Like the figure that stood upon its apex, as if she had just straightened up from a crouch. The same breeze pushed her long hair to one side, blue eyes impossibly livid and visible from the distance between them. Satara's heart pulsed painfully –

– and her eyes snapped open.

Her hands twisted on top of her knees, gripping the joints instead of resting upon them, palms up. A shiver snaked up her spine and rattled outwards, tightening the muscles all the way to her fingers and toes.

Damn meditation! She exhaled softly. Inhaled deeply. One, two, three. Held the air in her chest until it felt like it was fighting against her. One, two, three. Exhaled again, expelling the demons that had taken her throat and mind hostage, regaining control. No matter how hard I try, she keeps on turning up. How am I supposed to prepare for the test tomorrow?

The Langs had been patient and understanding. One of her therapists had suggested meditation as a way of healing from her past. Not long after, her foster parents had suggested she take up martial arts after Mr Lang noticed her looking at his coloured karate belts, white, red, yellow, and orange, stored in a decorative box on top of a cabinet in the living room. At first, she believed they just wanted her to have a hobby like other kids her age. But then they continuously referred to her MMA lessons as self defence class and she realised what their true intent was.

Initially she hadn't been too fussed about her grades. Several months later, she accidentally discovered the cost of the classes which had proven to be an effective remedy for her lackadaisical attitude. Although they never pushed her to study harder than anyone else her age, the pressure of her own existence felt like a monster she needed to outrun by entire miles.

So she studied well enough to impress them, behaved properly to avoid being any more of a burden than she already was, and released the waste from her efforts during her MMA lessons. By the time she was finally able to present them with an award for being one of the top students in her year and a medal for being the best first year fighter in her MMA class, she could no longer hear the beast breathing behind her.

There's probably no need for me to bother any more. Her hand faltered on its way to the black candle still glowing on a silver dish embellished by a tribal dragon symbol. Exams, fighting classes, eating, meditating … None of it matters. She found me. Like she said she would. Whether she makes a move tomorrow or in ten years, it won't make much of a difference any way, will it?

The candle flickered and went out, plunging the room into almost absolute darkness.

And her ears started ringing as soon as a burning sensation swept through her limbs.

Satara leapt to her feet before she had time to consider the direction of the threat, her back colliding with the bedroom door. The corners of her room were empty. She blinked several times to make sure, now directly in line with the light falling through the small opening between her balcony doors. Where are you? The doors creaked open, softly, as if an invisible animal had brushed between them. Her hands dropped from her upper arms as she rushed forward, narrowly missing the candle. She threw the doors open and stumbled into the chilled air. The narrow balcony was vacant. She grabbed the railings, leaning over them, breathing hard through clenched teeth. Screaming the question out loud in her mind. Where are you, Saytarnia?!

Few people walked up and down their road at eight in the evening. Most of them were people coming back home from working overtime. She watched an older man being welcomed back at the front door by a circle of children, haloed by the gentle glow from inside his house. A young woman ran down the street, the strike of her heels amplified by the evening stillness. Someone else jogged after their dog and further up the road was another person who looked like they were on their last legs as they turned into a driveway. The road itself was emptier than the pavement. A single red car drove past. Someone had parked their motorbike further down the road against a lamp post.

She's not here. Satara squeezed the balcony rail with both hands until her joints hurt. The tension echoed across her shoulders and her thoughts like an resistance band stretched too far. Why did the door open like that if she isn't here? There's no wind. So why –?

“Satara?” Mrs Lang knocked on the door, giving her a few seconds before popping her upper body through the door frame. “Why are you out there like that? And what was that loud noise just now?”

Satara's fingers quivered around the metal for a moment longer, irritated words on the tip of her tongue and she stifled the blackness that shook within her ribcage. She remembered what both Carl, her MMA instructor, and one of her therapists had said about the relationship between staying in control and breathing. Holding Mrs Lang's confused eyes, she inhaled until the black hole inside her was full of oxygen.

“Nothing.” She let go of the rail. Left her dread out on the balcony and walked back into the stiff warmth of her bedroom. “It was nothing.”

She closed the doors firmly behind her with both hands. Even if she had looked up returning to her room, she wouldn't have noticed the black figure crouched on the roof overhead.

<><><><><>

“FYI, if you ever drop out of this class, Carl's gonna lose two students,” said Jason, straightening his white haori-style jacket as he met her outside the women's toilets.

There was only one changing room in the building where the boys changed. After blunt enquiries, Satara had eventually forced the MMA company administration to admit there were no changing facilities for women as there had never been a demand for it since the courses began.

“Is that a threat?” she asked, struggling to look at him directly, her question unnaturally mild.

Though she had responded to his texts the night before – her back pressed to the wall, perpendicular to her pillows – the unspoken farewell to him yesterday hung at the back of her mind like a body from a noose. Meeting him on the way to school had been unfamiliarly awkward, as if she had gone back several years to when they first hung out together. No. Even back then it wasn't like this.

“What? No. It's a confession!” he exclaimed, as they headed towards the training hall. “Yesterday was boring as heck.”

Plain white ceilings above, rich grey paint on either side, and espresso oak floor boards paved their way. Late afternoon sunlight poured like blood through the high glass windows that made up most of the west-facing walls, picking out each flaw in the lacquered wood and matte paintwork. Signalling the imminent death of the day.

“Oh.” Normally, she would've allowed herself a small huff of amusement, if only to acknowledge his words. But, normally, she would have slept a little deeper than she had last night.

“You're definitely feeling better today though, right?” His stare burned its way across her face. “I know you said you're fine but your face kinda isn't matching your texts right now.”

“I didn't sleep properly.” She pulled the red headband out of the pocket of her hakama-like trousers, tilting her head forward and tucking it beneath the strands of hair that fell away from her forehead. She tied it around her head, pulling it tight before turning to him. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah, it looks great.” He gave her a thumbs up and smiled widely as if doing so would erase the self conscious colour spreading across his cheeks. “One point to Mr Vulpaio.”

The material burdened her eyebrows. She pushed the material up higher and Jayce opened the door to the training hall.

“No need to act like a gentleman after both of you have kept us waiting for this long,” called out Nigel from the back of the seated group. “Seriously, couldn't you wait until after class? Damn.”

Jason raised a casual middle finger at him as they walked in, tucking it out of sight as Carl turned to them.

“Satara, Jason, glad to have you here with us,” he drawled, each word preceded by an odd delay like a lagging video or a robot processing instructions before moving. “Please settle down.”

Glad? Please? Satara looked twice at their instructor, momentarily distracted from Nigel's stupid comments. Why's he talking like that?

Carl had always treated her with respect individually. But when he spoke to the group as a whole, his instructions and questions alike were often fast and merciless. On bad days, it felt like being mowed down by a barrage of both physical and mental bullets, earning him the nickname of Mr Machine Gun.

“Today we're going to learn about chi,” he said as they sat down. “How many of you have been meditating every night?”

Several hands raised.

“Be honest now,” he warned them. All of the hands dropped back down, some accompanied by sheepish grins, others by eyes suddenly dull with dread.

Chi? She kept her hand up, now the only one able to do so honestly, and Jason seemed to have caught her eye contact avoidance disease.

“I thought we had a test today?” she growled under her breath.

“Yeeeeah.” Her best friend rubbed the back of his neck. “About that …”